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lumosinlove · 3 years

Text

Vaincre

Part ii: August

For the hope of it all

The river was crowded, but the pier was their own.

Happy Birthday Harzy, was spelled out in big balloon letters, turning in the summer breeze, backwards and bumping.

Logan stood at the waterfront and looked at Leo’s—as it was mostly Leo’s—handiwork. Lobster rolls and soft-shell crab buffet, corn bread and iced tea. Chilled white and orange wines. Summer dresses fluttered and crossed each other as people talked, making new patterns, and Logan let himself settle into the laughter. He had a bad habit of taking peace and worrying it away. He didn’t want to do that today. He wanted to watch Finn enjoy himself, his team, his family. Logan had spent every one of Finn’s birthdays with their Harvard team, and then there had been that one, horribly absent year when Finn had been in Gryffindor and he hadn’t—not yet. He wanted to watch the way Leo put his long arms around his friends, in the same way his mother did, warm and strong. Logan wanted to watch without feeling that sharp tug of worry. He couldn’t have even said what he was worrying about. It was vague.

He’d done a lot of watching this summer. He loved it to the point of never wanting to do anything else. Finn and Leo were alike to each other in more ways than Logan would ever be. Whatever rapid-fire conversation they were in the middle of would often quickly leave Logan behind, but Logan didn’t care as long as he got them stumbling and laughing over each other to try and explain it to him—a book, a TV show, some sort of video game. He knew they liked telling him about it, and Logan loved watching them love things—including himself. Logan had never thought of himself as acting as a grounding point before. That had always been Finn or Leo. He always felt too wild in his own head, unsure, reserved. Vague. But Leo had said it to him this summer.

“When me and Finn lived together, we stayed up so late just talking,” Leo had said one early morning on the beach when they had left Finn sleeping. Logan wouldn’t be quick to forget the feeling of just being able to hold Leo’s hand for so long, in such an open space.

Leo had kissed the back of his palm too many times for Logan to think he’d be forgetting it, either.

“And you and I did the same thing, you know?” Leo continued. “On roadies.”

“Playing cards,” Logan smiled. “And our sundaes.”

Leo nodded, and his smile grew a little softer. He stared at his toes digging into the sand. “And I knew how connected you two were. Well, I guess not how connected, but I knew you two were better friends than anyone on the team, even Sirius and James. Even if you didn’t always act like it. I feel like good friends can do that, handle distance and snap back into place.”

“And?” Logan remembered asking playfully. “Which long talks were better?”

Leo just laughed. “No, no. Not better. Finn talking is like…wild. Like wind. Talking to you is stillness. I love both. The point is, that was…that was my connection. To both of you.” He had cleared his throat then, and given Logan’s hand a squeeze. “My mama always says if you can talk to someone forever then—“

“They’re yours forever,” Logan finished. “My maman says the same thing.”

Leo’s answering smile had been blinding.

An arm circled his waist, another pressing right over his heart.

“Nice party,” Finn said softly into his ear, and Logan only had a moment in that warmth before it was gone, wary of prying eyes. It made Logan miss France, and their brief stay at his mother’s family home that summer.

No one had known them there, and Leo had adored the markets, cooking elaborate meals while Finn and Logan had sat on the counter, watching him and loving him. They’d eaten out on the stone patio, overlooking the sea.

Finn looked a little like he had there, cheeks sun-hot. Logan wanted to reach for them, as he had then, cool them with his thumb. Finn smiled, making the sun-kissed skin crease a little.

“What?” he asked.

Logan shook his head. “Remember that picture?” he asked. “The one of us. It was on your wall at Harvard, you were standing behind me, hand on my chest.”

Finn’s mouth quirked, and he nodded. Logan hesitated for a moment, realizing that Finn was wearing his NASA t-shirt, the same one he had worn the day he’d left Harvard for good, leaving Logan behind. Logan stared at the logo, then looked away, back up to his brown eyes. Bambi, the boys at Harvard had called him.

He took a sip of his drink and shrugged. “I don’t know where it went. I know you packed it, took it with you, but I can’t find it. Do you know…”

Logan trailed off, as Finn had taken out his wallet. He set his beer on the pier ledge, flipped the worn leather open, and slipped out a folded piece of paper, thick, and well-loved. He held it out to Logan, biting his lip, and then leaned back against the railing, as if waiting.

Logan let the photo fall open in his fingers, and exhaled a shaky, steadying breath. There was a laugh in it somewhere.

“Oh,” he said.

“Didn’t know you were looking for it,” Finn replied, and trailed his fingers, cold from his beer, over Logan’s wrist, then reached up to fiddle briefly with his necklace.

Logan traced his eyes over the same, gaudy string lights in the photo, their same smiles—the one Logan knew he wore more freely these days.

Logan folded the picture closed again, and slipped it back into its place in Finn’s wallet.

“You want it, Lo?” Finn asked.

Logan shook his head. “I like that you have it.”

Finn stretched out a foot, ankle hooking around Logan’s, pulling him a little closer again, to stand nearly between his legs.

“I had it all that first year,” Finn smiled. “On my own.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.”

Finn grinned, singing off-key. “Pretending he’s beside me—”

Logan groaned, shoving his shoulder a little. “Okay, D’accord, I walked into that.”

Finn laughed loudly, and then swung his arm around Logan’s shoulders. “Let’s go find Le, get more food.”

They strode towards the tables.

“Hey!” Evgeni called out. He was standing with Olli and Jackson, his looming form leaning over the pier. “Ten bucks I jump!”

“Kuns, you don’t want to swim in this river,” Finn said.

“He’s going in whether you pay him or not,” Jackson shook his head. “At some point tonight.” He grinned, the scar that ran down one of his cheeks dimpling when he smiled. “Bet you twenty.”

“Nado,” Evgeni gasped, slapping his arm. “We split. Even.”

“No fucking way.”

Logan let Finn lead him away from their bickering, towards where he could immediately spot Leo, standing with Remus and Thomas. Logan felt everything just—soften.

“Do you ever think you could just find him?” Finn asked softly, the hand around Logan’s shoulders gesturing in Leo’s direction. “I mean, even if you couldn’t see him. You know?”

“Ouais,” Logan said, voice just as soft. “I know.”

Leo was mid-laugh when he spotted them, too.

“I gotta say,” he said as he met them halfway, hand on his hip, sunglasses in his hair. “I did a pretty damn good job.”

Logan huffed out a laugh. “You did. Really good.”

Finn snorted. “Way to take the credit, Nut.”

“He deserves it,” Logan said. “I was just here.”

“Lo’s the gift master,” Leo swung his arm around his shoulders. “And I’m the food master. Sounds about right?”

Logan patted Leo’s chest. “Are you going to jump in?”

Leo raised his eyebrows, squinting out at the water. “Do I want to swim in this water?”

“I’d swim if it was with you two,” Finn said. “I’d risk the murky monsters of the deep.”

“You gotta wait twenty minutes after eating,” Leo said. “And I haven’t tried the soft serve yet. They have swirls, they have mango, I mean, come on. I did so good.”

Finn laughed. “And I’m going to kiss you stupid later.”

“And I’m going to hold you to that,” Leo leaned in a little. “Birthday boy.”

They found Sirius holding a cone out to Remus by the machine, and Remus wrinkling his nose.

“C’est la vanille!” Sirius was laughing. “Quoi? Really? You don’t like vanilla?”

“You do?” Remus shook his head.

“Y’all we’ve caught the couple splashed on the front of every magazine in a, dare I say,” Leo paused, “fight?”

“First it’s pineapple pizza, now it’s vanilla,” Remus reached up, pushing Sirius’ chin length hair out of his eyes. “What did I sign up for?”

“Carrying his hair ties for him, apparently,” Finn reached out and snapped the tie around Remus’ wrist.

Remus rolled his eyes, and Logan thought Sirius might have blushed. When Logan reached up to poke at his cheek, he slapped his hand away and Logan laughed.

Sirius dragged Remus away towards where Julian, Remus’ little brother, was calling them over to the beanbag toss, and, momentarily tucked behind the shade of the soft-serve station, Logan felt Leo pull the both of them closer.

“Pretty good beginning to the end of the summer,” he sighed, licking his own cone.

“It was a damn good summer,” Finn grinned. “Hey, give me.”

Logan watched Leo hold out his cone to Finn, and agreed. It had been more than a good summer. It had been a perfect summer, and something in that made Logan stupidly worried. Sun and salt, and cold wine, and hot bodies pressed together as the moon rose. Logan closed his eyes for a moment, tucked between the two of them, and tried not to ruin this peace by thinking about all the times peace hadn’t been there.

This was Finn’s day. This was their season. Logan tilted his chin up and let the sweet mango of Leo’s ice cream sweeten his thoughts.

Noelle wasn’t at Finn’s party, and Thomas could feel it. He fiddled with the new, thin gold hoops she’d gifted him, barely circling away from his ears, the left one with a pearl strung along.

I’m the lucky one who found you, she’d said.

And he’d had to go and ruin it by trying to be funny, even while tears were pressing up as close to him as she was.

What does that make us, oysters?

She’d laughed, looked happy, but Thomas wished he’d said something else. He wished he had gotten something for her. He wished she wasn’t so far away.

I miss you, he tapped out on his phone, and that felt perfectly honest. Simple. Enough.

The three dots popped up and then went away. Thomas tried not to let it mean anything. She deserved to be busy. She worked just as hard—harder—than he did. Still, something like relief flooded through him when a long string of pink hearts answered him.

I miss YOU, T baby. Good party?? Tell Harzy happy bday for me.

Thomas blew out a breath. Will do. Say hi to the girls for me.

“You look like sad sunshine,” Natalie’s voice came, and he looked up to see her walking towards him, taking a sip from a honey colored beer with a lime wedged into it.

“I’m a little sad, Sunshine, like it or not,” Thomas laughed softly, pocketing his phone. “Where are the boys?”

“Canoodling,” Natalie sighed, hopping up onto one of the stools beside him under the umbrella. She had her long blond hair swept up into two french braids. “We’re both getting in our last drops of Alex, I think.”

Thomas nodded. “Hey, I never really asked, Nat. That just…happened this summer, or what?”

Natalie smiled. “Well, when I met Kasey, he hadn’t made it big yet, still on the Rangers farm team, but Alex had been on the Rangers for…maybe about a year? I can’t quite remember. I think Kase had only gotten called up a few times, so they’d met. But anyway, we start dating, two years later he gets a big boy contract with the Rags, and we get to know Alex. I saw him at team dinners only at first.” She smiled. “I was like, cutie, look at those freckles. But I had Kase, you know? I was pretty confused when I started looking a little closer. I mean, I was so happy.”

She pushed her sunglasses into her hair, leaning an elbow on the table and fiddling with a gold necklace at her throat that had the number 30 strung across the leather cord. Thomas wondered if she was going to add a 28 to that, Alex’s number, or if she’d get another one. He wondered if Noelle would want something like that. Maybe they could wear each other’s. He liked the thought.

“Well,” Natalie said. “I was confused until I noticed Kasey looking, but he wasn’t pulling away from me and I thought, hey…maybe this is something?”

“But that was how many years ago?”

Natalie took another drink. “No, yeah, nothing ever happened. Actually, I think they kissed once or twice. Roadies, you know? But Kasey gets traded, and then Finn arrived and we were like, wow, cruel joke.”

Thomas laughed. “I bet. But it meant Alex comes around again.”

She grinned. “That it did.”

Thomas held his drink up for a cheers. “Guess we owe those Cubs a lot.”

She clinked their bottles together. “Life’s weird. But, yeah, it happened this summer officially. Went to the O’Hara Hampton house, and I think we just loved being together. I forgot a little, how wonderful Alexander is. But,” she was smiling wildly again. “I woke up one morning and the boys had gone on a walk, they got back three hours later holding hands, Alex kissed me, and something changed. Maybe they worked through some history of theirs. We’re his now, he’s ours, whatever you want to call it.” She laughed. “Pretty good for a morning’s work.”

“Pretty good,” Thomas repeated.

“I’m worried it’ll be hard, though,” she sighed, chest rising and falling dejectedly. “He’s all the way in Florida and we’re here, together.”

Thomas glanced back down at his phone. “Yeah.”

“I bet that makes me sound like a snob to you,” she reached out and squeezed his hand.

He waved her off. “No, no, I just…we’re new, me and Noelle. Sometimes I worry that we’re too new for…for this.”

Natalie shook her head. “I think distance is distance. And, if it doesn’t work, it isn’t the physical space between two people. It’s a different sort of far away.”

Thomas tapped his fingers against his glass. “You just have something to say for everything, huh, Nat?”

She grinned. “Pretty mouth, gotta use it.”

Thomas snorted. “You’re not wrong.”

“Come on,” she said. “I’m going to whip your ass a ring toss.”

“Yeah fucking right.”

“Apparently they closed down a bunch of streets,” Remus was saying, still bleary-eyed and waking up as Sirius made the coffee. “That’s awesome.”

“It’s a parade. Of course,” Sirius said as he pushed the lid of their french press down.

Remus looked up to see him smiling and rolled his eyes, laughing, “Okay, sure, but it’s still crazy. They say it’s going to bigger than the Cup Parade was in June.”

That made Sirius’ eyebrows raise. “Really?”

Remus hummed in agreement, clicking his phone off and popping his back. “Well. I know Pride is in June, but I’m happy we get to do this, too.”

Sirius nodded, sliding onto the stool beside Remus with two waiting mugs. “Captain gets the Cup last. I don’t make the rules.”

Remus just yawned and let his temple fall against Sirius’ shoulder, closing his eyes as Sirius’ warm palm came to brush over his hair and neck.

“September is in two weeks,” Remus mumbled. “How the hell did that happen?”

Sirius poured their coffee and pressed a kiss against Remus’ hair. “You’ll be fine.”

“Hm?”

“I know you’re nervous for training camp. You’ve seen it a million times, though.”

“Yeah,” Remus sighed and sat up pulling his steaming mug close. “Seen it.”

Sirius laughed, going to the refrigerator for the milk. His hair was in dark, glorious tangles, and Remus vaguely wondered how much time they had before they needed to get ready.

“I meant,” Sirius leaned over the island and poured them both milk before capping it again and going for the brown sugar. Remus smiled when he realized that Sirius had picked that up from Remus’ mom, Hope. “I meant that you know it never comes across like…like some insane competition for spots.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “It is, though. I mean, not for the Sirius Black, but…”

“D’accord,” Sirius nodded. “Okay, okay. But you know what I mean?”

“I’m not worried about the team,” Remus said as Sirius came to sit down again. “I’m worried I’m not going to make the team.”

Sirius shook his head, set his mug down, and all but pulled Remus off of his stool to gather him close. Remus mumbled something about cold coffee, but smiled as he let himself be kissed good morning, kissed calm, kissed loved.

“I’m not worried,” Sirius whispered, and kissed him some more.

Remus had barely shut his car door—having opened it to cheers—before he was getting an armful of his little brother.

“Oof,” Remus grunted, but squeezed him, lifting him off of his feet. “Nice outfit, Jules.”

Julian jumped back, his Lupin Lions Pride jersey actually fitting him for once. “Thanks, dad found it for me.”

“He insisted on wearing it,” Hope Lupin smiled as she walked up. “But you’re going to roast so tell me when you want your t-shirt, baby, it’s in my bag. Hi, Re.”

“Hi, mom,” Remus let her kiss his cheek a few times.

“Salut,” Sirius grinned from beside him. Remus watched them hug, warmed more deeply than by the heat. Hope patted Sirius’ chest where a faded rainbow twelve was printed on his t-shirt. Remus was going to steal that thing as soon as he took it off.

“What a party!” Hope grinned. “Is someone grilling? Thought I smelled it.”

Remus nodded. “Yeah, they got this restaurant downtown to bring BBQ.”

“Is there ice cream?” Julian said, huffing. “I’m hot.”

Sirius plucked at his jersey jokingly. “Mais, ouais, it’s almost ninety!”

Hope laughed, and put a hand on Julian’s back. “I’ll get him cooled off. Your dad’s around here somewhere with Pascal. Meet you on the float in ten. And make sure you’re wearing sunscreen!”

Remus watched his family wind their way through the colorful, crowded streets, felt Sirius’ fingers lace through his own, and smiled.

The sun did beat down hot, but Remus didn’t mind so much, not when they were filed onto the float that was equipped with a red and gold Lions head roaring at the front and rainbow streamers at the back, like an extension of the mane. The Cup sat on a high pedestal between them, strapped in shining.

The crowd was wild. People were hanging out of the tall parking garage that lined one side. The pavement was painted in thick strips of rainbow in some places, and red and gold in others.

Gryffindor loved their Lions. It almost made Remus want to cry, seeing how happy Sirius was. Half of the team was on their float, some of them walking beside. Remus spotted Logan sporting a rainbow brimmed hat walking with Kasey and returned the peace sign Logan sent up.

“Everyone is decked out, man,” James shouted in Remus’ ear from beside him, Harry on his hip. He and Lily had returned in time for Finn’s birthday. He was wearing a Lions Pride shirt, and Harry had a tiny one to match and a sunhat that practically covered his entire body that Lily kept coming over to adjust. James grinned. “Damn. Good Cup Day.”

“It’s not my Cup Day,” Remus laughed. “But I do sort of feel like this is my day.”

James just smiled, pointing at people for Harry to wave at. “Maybe won’t have to make that distinction next year, eh? Look, Har, see the flags? You want one, bud?”

“Re,” Sirius leaned in, and Remus felt his hand on his back. “Want to walk a bit?”

Remus nodded, eyes finding where Leo, Jackson, Evgeni, and Olli were walking together, keeping time with the floats and talking to the crowd. Leo had a rainbow flag painted on one cheek, Natalie’s work.

Remus felt for his own hat, flipping the colorful brim backwards as he hopped down.

“Hey,” Jackson grinned, throwing an arm around Remus’ shoulders. Evgeni had one of Sergei’s daughters in his arms, chatting with the crowd. He wasn’t wearing Jackson’s rainbow-striped shirt, but it looked like one of the kids had stuck two stickers on one of his cheeks that he wasn’t bothering removing. Remus wondered if he was worried, about his family, or his country, like he had told Sirius. It sent a wave of thankfulness through him, the fact that he was here.

“Nado,” Remus hugged Jackson. “Jesus, seriously, what did you do this summer? You look fit, man.”

“You see him,” Evgeni called over, handing a sharpie back to someone wrapped almost entirely in a flag covered with glitter. “Stare in the mirror, in love.”

“I don’t,” Jackson protested.

Evgeni just shrugged, spinning Sergei’s daughter around. “I’m see you.”

“Well, hand some over,” Remus said.

Jackson just gave him a shake. “You’re going to make the team.”

“Maybe,” Remus groaned out a laugh, knocking him away.

“No maybes,” Sirius said, sidling up to Remus’ side and replacing Jackson’s arm.

“Sirius! Cap!” someone called, and Remus felt Sirius tense a little, as he always did in crowds, or media.

The person calling had short brown hair and seemed to have tailored a loose jersey of Sirius’ into a form-fitting dress. The sleeves were cut and hemmed by the twelves on the sleeves.

“Salut!” they said, accent stiff, and laughed. “I tried.”

That seemed to ease Sirius a little, and Remus tugged him to a stop.

“Salut,” Sirius smiled. “Wow, that’s my jersey?”

They nodded, eyes sliding over to Remus. “It is. My girlfriend was hoping to have a Lupin one so we can match, but…”

The girl beside her, black hair tucked up in a bandana, smiled and threw her hands up. “When are they stocking those! I have two hundred bucks I’m ready to drop, I mean, let’s go before I second guess myself!”

Remus laughed. “Oh man, I’ve been there.”

“With my jersey, ouais?” Sirius grinned was teasing as he signed an autograph and Remus blushed.

“Here,” Sirius took out his phone. “You can give me your phone number, if you’re okay with it, and I’ll get you one? Yeah?”

“Oh…are you kidding?” the girl put a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, I…yes, Cap, you can have my phone number, sure fucking thing.”

They moved along the crowd easily. Sirius grabbed the Cup at one point, walking it along for people to touch just as their entire team had in June. Remus stayed well away.

“No jinxes here,” an older man in a Lions Pride shirt laughed, his arm around his son. He held out his hand. “My entire family’s been Lions fans for generations. Glad to have you on the team.”

His son, the very image of his father, smiled and tentatively held out a sharpie. “Would you sign my shirt? I’ve seen your tapes and everything, I…you’re my favorite. I was thinking about getting out of hockey before you.”

Remus blinked. “I…” he took the sharpie, swallowing around the tightness in his throat. “I’m glad you’re staying. Are you a defenseman?”

He lit up. “How’d you know?”

Remus shrugged, smiling. “You hold yourself like one.”

“I hope that’s a good thing!” Remus heard Olli call from a little ways down.

He laughed. “How did you hear that?”

Remus signed the boy’s shirt, thanked him, and jogged a little to catch up with Sirius.

“I’ll take that,” Jackson grinned, and plucked the Cup from Sirius’ grasp.

“It’s my Cup Day!” Sirius laughed, but wrapped his arm around Remus instead. “Hi.”

“That was my first signature,” Remus said softly, to Sirius only, and Sirius squeezed his shoulders.

“The first of many.”

It was a bit of a blur after that. Natalie brought them ice cream and cold lemonade, which turned Sirius’ kisses even sweeter when they made it back home, out of the heat and stumbling, happy and sun-kissed. Sirius’ entrance hall was dark to Remus’ unadjusted eyes, and he focused on his palms, splayed over Sirius’ broad back. He yelped when a voice rang out from the living room.

“We’re on the couch!” Regulus shouted. “Just so you know!”

Sirius broke the kiss, looking flushed and dazed. “What…why?”

“I live here!” Regulus’ voice called back.

Remus suppressed a smile, and leaned his forehead against Sirius’ chest, trying to calm his breathing and any flush of arousal that had been beginning to stir up.

“Fuck,” Sirius swore. “How did he get home before us?”

“Who’s we?” Remus called out.

“Howdy,” Leo’s voice came.

Sirius sighed. “It’s my Cup Day.”

Remus gave his hip a short pat before walking down the hallway and rounding the corner to find Leo and Regulus slouched on the couch, AC on full blast.

“Right,” Remus nodded. “You’re suppose to be helping Reg pack for school.”

Regulus glanced up from his phone. “There’s twenty different gifs of you jumping down from the float and turning his hat backwards on Twitter.”

Remus blinked. “What?” He didn’t even remember doing that.

Leo nodded, crunching a potato chip. “And we’ve only been looking for ten minutes.”

“Huh,” Sirius said, turning towards the kitchen. He stopped, hesitated for a moment, and turned back. “Let me see.”

Remus huffed out a laugh. “I need water.”

“Donne-moi!” Sirius demanded of Regulus, grabbing for his phone.

“You have your own phone!” Remus made out Regulus’ reply in French.

Remus filled his glass, downed in, and was filling it again when Leo came into the kitchen, rolling his eyes and smiling.

“Thought I’d leave the brothers to fight. Can’t believe I used to be scared of both of them.”

Remus laughed, too. “Right?”

Remus watched Leo grab a glass, spinning his own slowly around on the counter. “Are you…”

Leo glanced up. “Hm?”

Remus took a breath. “Tell me if I’m overstepping, but I know today must’ve been a little…” he took his hat off, the colorful bill bright against the dark stone of the counter.

Leo nodded in understanding, sliding onto a stool. “It wasn’t…hard. It was actually good to see all of the support. I could see it in Finn and Logan, too. Logan is nervous.” He nodded to himself. “More nervous than me and Finn. Understandably. I mean, you know how long he and Finn…” Leo shook his head. “I was happy he got to see that. And Finn was happy, I know, too. Maybe we’ll start making plans. I mean, this summer was just fucking heaven. Just being together. Like, I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy.”

“Me too,” Remus sat on the stool beside him. They smiled at each other, then laughed. “I’m happy for you guys.”

“I am, too,” Leo grinned. “All right, I think me and Reg have to actually put his clothes in suitcases now.”

“Good luck.”

“That boy owns, like, five t-shirts,” Leo drained his glass and put it in the sink. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

Remus grabbed a third glass and followed Leo back into the living room where they found Sirius leaning over the back of the couch, squinting at Regulus’ phone. He did a double take when he spotted Remus.

“Hey, where’s your hat?”

Remus snorted. “I’m not a twitter gif. C’mon, I need a shower.”

Regulus raised a teasing eyebrow. “And you need him for that?”

Remus stuck out his tongue. “Yeah.”

Sirius flicked the back of Regulus’ head. “Go pack.”

Remus tugged his t-shirt off on their way up the stairs. “That was wonderful, but fuck do I wish it wasn’t a thousand degrees.”

“I don’t know,” came Sirius’ reply from behind him as they entered their bedroom, followed by his hands on Remus’ hips and his lips against his neck. “When it’s hot, your hair sticks to your neck just…” he kissed just by Remus’ ear gently. “Here.”

Remus bit back a smile. “With sweat.”

“It’s handsome, I think.”

Remus laughed, turning in Sirius’ arms. He was summer tan and happy. Remus didn’t think he’d ever get tired of seeing that grin, one that was more and more present lately. Sirius laughed and made small talk with fans who asked for pictures—even today, he had seemed to almost enjoy the crowds and the media. Remus touched his number twelve necklace. He brought it to his lips. “You’re handsome.”

They stepped into the shower together and stood in the peace and quiet of the beating down water, turned cool against their heated skin. Remus rested his head against Sirius’ chest, and smiled when he felt Sirius lace their fingers together. It wasn’t exactly a new thing anymore, but it still felt new. It had been that way when James, Lily, and Harry had first arrived home and Sirius had done it on the table between them at the restaurant, just as it had been early in June, when Sirius had done it while they waiting in line to board their plane.

Remus looked up, squeezing his hand, and Sirius bent to take Remus’ mouth against his own again. It was softer, but Remus felt just as giddy from the day’s events. A parade. A Cup Day.

He wanted one of his own.

“Love you, mon loup,” he smiled. “Thank you for today.”

Remus ran his hand over Sirius’ broad shoulders. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You did everything,” Sirius whispered back. “You are part of me allowing myself things.”

Remus felt his expression soften.

“Heather explained it that way,” Sirius said. “I thought it was well put.”

Heather, the team’s sports psychiatrist. Remus had only actually met her a few times, but Sirius valued her highly, had called her a few times during the off season.

“I like it, too,” he said, and let Sirius pull him close again.

They threw the windows open to let the cooling breeze in once they were back downstairs, and Sirius put steaks on the grill for the two of them.

“Where’d Reg and Nut go?” Sirius asked.

“I think out with some of the boys,” Remus said, and followed as Sirius went back out to the patio. He notched his hip against the door frame. “Hey, do you want to go to the rink tomorrow? All this Cup talk has got me wanting to skate, like, now.”

Sirius tilted his head back and laughed. “With you? Always.”

Remus grinned and padded back over to the counter where the salad was waiting for dressing.

“I’m glad we didn’t end up having everyone over,” Remus said as he tossed it. “As much as I love them.”

Sirius hummed, sliding the screen door of the deck closed. He set the plate and tongs down before wrapping his arms around Remus.

“As much as I love them,” he repeated quietly, lips brushing against Remus’ neck. “I want you all to myself right now.”

Remus leaned back against him. “My thoughts exactly, baby.”

Sirius smiled against his skin. “Glad we’re on the same page. Vanilla hater.”

Remus pinched his arm. “Pineapple hater.”

Cole woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs wafting down to his room from the kitchen—and Katie Dumais curled up at the foot of his bed.

He jumped a little, and then sat up slowly. It took him a moment to realize that she wasn’t asleep, but that she was fiddling with a little charm bracelet, her eyes down.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, hi, Katie.”

She looked up, and a grin lit up her face. “Mom says breakfast is ready. I didn’t want to wake you up, even though she told me to.”

He sat up a little more. “How long ago was that?”

Katie wrinkled her nose. “Maybe four hours?”

Cole blinked, and picked up his phone from his nightstand. It was eight-thirty. He glanced back at Katie.

“Can you tell time?” he asked slowly.

“Not really,” she sighed happily, and kept fiddling with her bracelet. “You still have rainbow paint on your face.”

Cole laughed, rubbing a hand over his cheek, where Lily Potter had painted a flag the day before, for the parade. Where the Stanley Cup had been.

It still all felt surreal to say.

“Okay. Um, tell her I’ll be up in a second, okay?”

Katie nodded. “Okay!”

Cole listened to her footsteps scamper all the way up the stairs before he flopped back down on his pillows and chuckled to himself. He gave his teeth a quick brush and followed.

“Bon matin,” Celeste smiled as she flipped a few more pieces of bacon onto a plate. “How did you sleep? I think that heat yesterday tired everyone out.”

Cole slid onto a stool beside Marc and Louis, Katie to his right. “Really good, thanks.”

“The air conditioner isn’t acting up again?” Celeste asked. “Logan was always having trouble with that thing.”

“It didn’t turn on right away, but I fixed it,” Cole smiled when she set a steaming plate of eggs, bacon and fruit in front of him, and then another plate with toast. “My mom’s big with her tool kit, so, I mean, if you ever need anything around the house, I know some stuff. Just so I can…help out. Thank you for letting me stay.”

Celeste beamed. “Oh, sweetheart, we’re not just letting you stay. We’re very happy you’re here. Someone your age shouldn’t be alone, especially with all the pressure that comes with this job. But I will absolutely take you up on that. You wouldn’t know how to build me some planters, would you? Pascal bought the wood ages ago,” she turned back to the sink, waving a spatula. “Always saying he will take care of it, and yet there it sits!”

Cole laughed softly. “Yeah, I can do that. Sounds good.”

“Well, good,” Celeste smiled, pulling her purse over her shoulder. “Now, Pascal is with Sergei for an ice session—which you’re always invited to, he says, by the way—I’m taking Louis to tennis, and Marc to space camp. Layla will be here soon, but do you mind looking after Katie until she gets here? Adele’s up in her room if you have any questions. She’ll know.”

Cole nodded, trying to swallow the eggs quickly. “Of course. No problem.”

Celeste smiled. “She loves you enough already, she’ll be no trouble.”

“She’s always trouble,” Louis mumbled.

Celeste tisked, but kissed his head. “Come on, up. Cole, you have some of the boys’ numbers, too, right?”

“Um,” Cole thought of Sirius Black’s number in his phone from when he called him. “Yes?”

“Good. I know you don’t have a car yet, and you’re always welcomed to ours when it’s available, but if you ever need a ride anywhere, I’m sure any one of them will drive you.”

Cole, for the life of him, didn’t think he would ever be able to bring himself to call Sirius Black up and ask him to drive him to, what, Target? Jesus.

“Right,” Cole tried for a smile and knew it came out nervous. “Thanks.”

Katie did turn out to be a pretty easy kid. Even if she did seem to switch activities at a rapid pace. She drew, and then she watched half of a TV show, and then she was hungry, but she did all of it herself. After less than 30 minutes she had parked both of them on the couch where they were stringing beads for necklaces.

“I’ll make you Lions colors,” she said seriously.

That had been Cole’s best—and only—idea. He glanced at the multi-colored kit. “What colors do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

Cole smiled. “All right. What’s your charm bracelet?” He nodded to the small silver ring around her wrist.

“It’s from Tremzy,” Katie thrust her wrist forward. “He gets me one every one of my birthdays. There’s a hockey stick, because we love hockey, and an ice cream cone, because we love ice cream, and this is a book because we read together, and—”

There was the ding that told Cole that Layla had arrived, coming in from the garage, and Katie was off again.

“Hi,” Cole said, leaning against the kitchen doorframe.

Layla looked up from trying to put her things down and hug Katie at the same time. “Hey, Cole.”

“How’s it going?” Cole asked, feeling decidedly more prepared this time. Layla was in a green tank-top today, but her same shorts and gold rings.

“Busy,” she laughed. “I actually have my first orientation this evening, at the rink.”

Cole nodded. “Nice. I’ve never actually been inside. Well, not yet, I guess.”

Layla straightened at that. “Well…I’m driving over once Celeste gets home, just to see the place first.” She seemed to take a breath. “Do you want to come with?”

They didn’t have full gear, but the chilled rink was a relief against the sweat they worked up anyway. Remus borrowed a helmet—his own hadn’t been sent out yet—and used his old, worn in CCM skates.

“I can still beat you in these,” Remus panted as he skated backwards, tapping the puck back and forth and trying to gauge which way Sirius was going to dodge first.

“Oh, I know,” Sirius said, then lifted his right foot and went left.

Remus knocked the puck out of his stick towards the boards, and it sent them both chasing it.

“You use that trick too much!” Remus laughed, it echoing across the empty rink, as he shoved Sirius against the glass, the puck trapped between his skate blade and the foot of the boards.

“What about this one?” Sirius said, and turned to press their mouths together. Remus smiled into it, and it was enough to allow Sirius to steal the puck back.

“No!” Remus laughed as Sirius carried the puck expertly across the blue line, winding his stick up and taking a deadly slap shot, notching it perfectly in the upper left corner of the empty goal.

He dropped to a knee, sliding into a celebration before wrapping around the goal with a final whoop and crashing back into Remus for another kiss.

“Wanna run plays?” Sirius asked. “I’ll be your center if you’ll be my winger.”

Remus smiled as they reset themselves, pushing the used pucks towards the boards. “That might not happen.”

“Maybe I have more pull than you think.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Not that much, baby. What’s going to happen is I’ll start on the fourth line, go from there. Anything else and every journalist in the city would go batshit crazy.”

Sirius just scooped another puck into the goal, then hooked his arms over his stick, the body behind his neck. “Wouldn’t be our first time causing that.”

Remus smiled. “True.” He nudged Sirius towards center ice. “Face-off.”

Sirius took his helmet off to push his hair back. “Let’s do it.”

Remus was just tugging off his shirt, smiling as he listened to Sirius rattle of plans for the season, when he heard two voices laughing from the hallway. Sirius’ smile dropped, and he narrowed his eyes at the door.

“Don’t know,” Sirius said. “Hey, where are we meeting the guys for—”

“Should we check out the locker room?” one of the outside voices said—higher. “Do you think it’s open?”

“Non,” Sirius mumbled under his breath, grabbing for the back of his own shirt.

The door opened hesitantly at first, then wider, revealing Layla and Cole.

Cole flushed, and Layla’s mouth opened, then closed.

“Oh my god,” she said. “Sorry, we didn’t think…”

Remus glanced at Sirius, but when he didn’t say anything, just pretending to fiddle grumpily with his bag, he waved them off.

“Hey, we were just swinging by for a quick skate. It’s not our locker room,” he smiled. “Well, not only ours. You guys have the same idea?”

“Not skating, maybe,” Layla replied, twisting one of her braids around her finger. She looked up at Cole, who still looked like he thought he was in the wrong place, and smiled. “But neither of us have really gotten to look around yet, so, we thought we would.”

Remus smiled, using his dirty t-shirt to wipe sweat from his brow. “Nice. Well, maybe Cap and I can give you a tour or something some time.”

Sirius glanced up. “Marls does that.”

Remus tried to send Sirius a look with his eyes, but Sirius just glanced mournfully towards what Remus thought might be the video review room.

“Well…” Remus said hesitantly.

“We’ll keep looking around,” Layla said quickly. “See you guys around.”

Remus watched them to make sure the door was closed, then turned and punched Sirius in the arm.

“Quoi?” Sirius asked.

“Grumpy.”

“I liked it just us,” Sirius mumbled. “I thought we could plan plays or—or watch tape.”

Remus laughed, pressing his forehead to Sirius’ chest. “You’re such a baby.”

One corner of Sirius’ mouth raised. “So?”

“You wanted the rookie to stop making moon eyes at you,” Remus said. “Here’s your chance.”

“D’accord,” Sirius’ grin spread as he gathered Remus closer by his hips. “But will you keep making moon eyes at me?”

Remus leaned up for a gentle kiss. “I’m going to ask them to lunch. Wait here, Captain, you scare the rookie.”

“I don’t,” Sirius sighed, and Remus pushed out the locker room door.

“Hey,” Remus jogged to catch up as Cole and Layla turned at his voice. “Us and some of the other guys are planning to get lunch. How about it? You, too, Layla.”

Layla blinked. “Seriously?”

Remus laughed. “Team lunch isn’t a team lunch without the PT. Or, one of them, at least.”

Layla grinned. “Right. Well, I’d love to.”

Cole nodded quickly. “I—yeah. Yeah, cool. That rooftop place again?”

“You’re already picking up on team favorites, I see.”

Cole smiled sheepishly. “Kuny makes us go there every time.”

“It’s the sushi,” Remus laughed. “He’s a man obsessed. Well, cool. Meet you there in twenty?”

Layla jingled her keys. “See you there.”

“Sushi,” Evgeni all but moaned as he picked up a piece of yellowtail.

“Jesus, Kuns,” Jackson said. “You can’t eat all of that by yourself.”

Evgeni was chewing with his eyes closed. “You don’t know.”

“All right,” Thomas leaned forward, folding his sunglasses into his shirt in the shade of their umbrella. “What do we think this season, boys? Predictions, let me hear them.”

They all looked to Sirius first, who leaned back in his chair, one arm over the back of Remus’. He took a sip of his iced tea.

“Rangers,” he said finally.

“Uh-huh,” James nodded.

“Same,” Layla said, taking a spoonful of her miso soup.

“Caps, maybe,” Sirius continued.

“Definitely,” Remus said.

“I’m feeling Avs?” Thomas offered. “And I don’t want to say Snakes, but…yuck.”

“More like Vegas,” Remus said.

The table paused, and Remus just shook his head.

“It’s true,” he said, glancing at Cole and Layla, trying to decide if they’d noticed the shift in the air. He had to be able to talk about this. About him. "They’re deep this year.”

“Yeah,” Cole said softly. “Greyback’s killer.”

Remus felt the entire table tense and felt immediately guilty. Cole didn’t know what he had said, and Remus all but watched him wonder if he’d said something wrong.

“And us,” Thomas grinned, slapping Cole on the back. “We’ve got Lupin now. We’ve got Reyes.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but laughed. He tried to express his thanks silently, and Thomas winked at him.

This felt different. He had known it would. Team dinners would be his dinners now, not a friendly tag-along invite. Driving to practice with Sirius, they would go through almost the same routine, not split off for his office and the locker room. These were his teammates. He’d win and lose with them, and they with him, in a way they hadn’t before. Sitting there, in the sunshine that was going to turn colder, Remus looked forward to a year of this.

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igotathingforvampires · 3 years

Text

Aro Volturi N.S.F.W Alphabet

CANON DIVERGENT.

Info on Reader: Reader is an Elemental Gift user like Benjamin

CW/TW: a SLIGHT MENTION of assault but NO DETAIL AT ALL (as a SA survivor I do not use this lightly but I do like representation and not having the survivor be that cliche broken doll we end abusers here thank you)

How you two met:

You…..oh you. You’re standing with the Cullens wondering how the FUCK you got here.

Why am I here? What’s with this tiny little kid who can touch me and tell me things. Awe but she’s cute.

You’re just a bored Vampire who knows Carlisle and is Esme’s BFF.

You’re a nomad, and a badass one, see your gift is the Elements like Benjamin, it’s why Amun has his eye on you and is freaked out.

You and Benji are buddies now. Benjamin specializes in Earth and Water. You specialize in Fire and Air.

So now, here you are watching a bunch of cloaked baddies stomping towards you. But Carlisle and you have spoken frequently, the Volturi aren’t bad.

However, they are cautious.

And caution bred by fear is something you know to be wary of.

So you keep yourself a bit behind Carly. Waiting and watching.

The leader— that must be Aro you think, flings his hood back and suddenly you feel your entire chest clench up and a yank within yourself towards him. “Oh what the fuck.” You growl. Glancing UP at the Old Gods you couldn’t help but snap at them “ARE YOU ALL KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?! HIM?!”

The platinum haired man barked angrily, “who dares?!”

Aro is too busy glancing at his brother Marcus who’s smiling. He nods at Aro and huffs a bit of a sigh.

The raven haired man turns ever so slowly, casting his red gaze over the crowd and it falls to Carlisle. “Carly.”

“Aro?”

“Who is that behind you.” Aro can feel his chest hurt like a chain is being pulled.

Carlisle looks confused and glances behind him where you are shaking your head face palming—looking embarrassed.

Edward and Bella are utterly confused, before Edward listens to Aro’s and your thoughts and gets a look of disgust, “REALLY.” He barks.

You feel the rage of a thousand suns consume you. “I CAN’T PICK IT YA KNOW AND HEY WHADDAYA MEAN REALLY —ASSHOLE DON’T TALK ABOUT MY MATE LIKE THAT!”

The entire field is utterly still as you’re heaving, standing on your tip toes in front of the bronze haired vampire pointing at Edwards cringing face, “but it’s—“ he starts, you let out a growl and sparks fly off you.

Edward shuts up.

“I will light your ass on fire.” You whisper hiss.

The Volturi are just tilting their heads like WTF.

Marcus is trying not to laugh, Caius has just become stunned glancing between his brother and the woman across the battlefield.

Aro is getting GIDDY.

“And who is the girl.” He asks.

You turn, your hips swinging with attitude and your arms crossing as you scoff. “Psh, get a load of this Mother fucker,” you whisper to yourself glaring across the expanse of space. “HEY. I have a name.”

------

-----

His First Impression:

Of course my mate swears like a sailor.

Is Aro’s first thought.

His next thought is that you’re awful adorable. Awe so lithe and cute and— Much too … hm, much too adorable to be mine I would think how In the —a violent wind kicks up and flames burst out from your body enveloping your form as you take a few steps forward.

Ah there it is.

“You wanna ask me my name— darling.” You smile wide at him.

“Of course,” his purr is laced with annoyance, but he’s far too intrigued. “Who might you be?”

“I’m y/n. No last name, my parents were assholes.” You shrug. “So, we doing this trial or we figuring the whole—“ you wave your hand between the gaping maw of land between you two, “bond thing.”

Aro pauses, a twitch on his lips, “after the proceedings cara mia.”

“Ooo… love me a man that speaks Italian—” You smirk, raising a brow and cock your head to the side.

Aro makes a stifled choked off growl as his eyes go black— thank God he lost the ability to blush as arousal slammed into him like a freight train.

You’re obviously annoyed, and have as Caius mutters ‘more balls than a Christmas tree’ and you are ready for this trial to be over.

Frankly so is Aro he wants to drag you back to Volterra and bring you to heel.

Not that he thinks that’s going to happen.

But he loves playing with fire. And you’re full of it.

He watches you glance at the Cullens and the half-breed. “Alright Nessie come on let’s show him what you can do kiddo.” You scoop the girl up and you and the Cullens walk over with Jake behind you.

-----

When does he know of his feelings?

When within reaching distance you set Renessme down and pat her head, “okay tiny Loch Ness, say hello.”

Bella is panicking, but she trusts you it seems, she better, you have no qualms frying— sans mate— every vampire here. They do their little song and dance. Aro tries to talk about the danger and you feel your temper boil over.

“Darling.” You croon taking a step forward with a sharp but soft smile.

You remind him of a lioness, purring softly but ready to tear into him with one movement.

He raises a brow; you are in 6 inch heels putting you nose to nose with him. “Yes carissima?” He breathes deep and nearly groans out loud, you smell so good, like spring and a heady feminine scent like perfume edged in lilacs and lavender.

“Could you pretty pretty pretty please just keep an eye on little Nessie— I hate to tell you but she’s quite important to me and I can assure you she fits in with humans better than the Cullens do.”

“And if I don’t.”

You let flames dance in your gaze. “I’ll roast everyone here except your brothers and their mates and make you start the fuck over without me.”

Aro’s done.

Cupid has struck him in his dead heart.

He’s never been more terrified or aroused or enraged at once at your dulcet threat purred from such sweet lips.

He wants to grip you by your hair to him, pick you up and haul you to somewhere private and teach you a lesson.

He wants to fight you. And it’s quite clear you’re ready to rumble, though he’s not sure you’d let him win. Or that it wouldn’t end up tangling in a bed somewhere on fire. That’s fine too.

A manic grin spreads across his face, eyes going pitch black as he snatches you up by the waist and hauls you closer loving the startled look in your eyes settling into something dark and wanting. “And if I agree?”

The brothers roll their eyes.

Go figure you’d be as bat shit as he is.

“I’ll leave with you right now.” You give him THAT look matching his almost mad grin.

A low purr echos from him making Bella clap her hands over Nessie’s ears. “Una ragazza così meravigliosa, credo che mi piaccia come funziona la tua mente.” Such a wonderful girl, I think I like how your mind works.

But your plans to drag your mate off end as Alice shows up with her witness right when he’s about to whisk you off for some obvious adult time.

Both of you sigh put out and exasperated.

Yes you just about ended an entire potential threat with batting pretty eyes and coaxing the leader of the Volturi into some fun.

But now that’s ruined because of the psychic. Alice is looking rather embarrassed as the proceedings go. Given that she probably saw how everything was about to go down.

Aro can sense you’re as annoyed as he is, that and you’re not leaving his side. And you don’t mind touching him but you’re not because oh yeah he needs to focus. But oh he can see your hand twitching towards his own.

He can easily turn his gift off and so he does and grips your hand, quickly jerking you to his side.

Electricity lights along your skin at the contact and both of you jolt a moment and glance sideways looking amused.

This was going to be fun.

——

How’d you end up with the Volturi?

Alice and her witnesses ease their concerns about Nessie. Aro placates the Volturi as you linger back behind him a bit. Everyone just poof! Vanishes.

“So ah, can we get my stuff first before you whisk me off around the world?” You ask sweetly.

Aro’s a bit startled, “you wish to leave already?”

You realize he would be willing to stay for a bit and let you acclimate.

“Nah where you go I fucking go, come on baby. Let’s get the fuck outta dodge.” You give him a teasing shove as you walk by making Carlisle’s coven silently shake in mirth at his surprised expression.

Carlisle murmurs, “Good luck Aro.”

“Fuck off Carly.” The King growls back before following you.

That’s all they wrote.

You were in. And you made yourself at home quite easily.

Jane and Alec adore you— you saw them and just SQUEEd. “OMG they’re so DEADLY but so CUTE!”

Jane wasn’t quite sure what to do with you picking her UP and hugging her nuzzling your nose to her cheek, “she’s just a tiny tot of doom I adore it! We’re going to burn the SHIT outta people.”

Alec just sat starry eyed as you ruffled his hair, “I know boys don’t like being picked up.”

Jane had become a koala on you. And you didn’t mind.

Well. You’re Mama now. Aro couldn’t be more pleased as you continue to help develop their skills trying things outside of the box.

See, that’s also a sort of talent you have— you can help people learn how to use their gifts because of how you think. Not a gift per say, but certainly useful.

Jane it turns out can utilize the fire element.

Alec can utilize air.

With you knowing both you’re easily able to teach Alec how to hone his targets and even allow his gift to POP UP near someone rather than from his hands.

Jane is capable of setting shit on fire now.

Aro isn’t sure if he’s proud or worried.

Bit of both. But you are STERN with their use of powers. And when Jane set Felix’s foot on fire she was forced to shine everyone’s shoes in the Volturi in the afternoon and write 200,000 times at HUMAN PACE. “We do not light family on fire.”

She never did it again.

The inner coven loves you. Caius and you are besties Marcus is like a big brother always doting on you. Athenadora and Sulpricia are of course still together as companions, and don’t worry about his ex wife— they were on the rocks she’s ecstatic someone else can keep him in line.

The coven instantly takes to you, in fact you’re now basically Mother to everyone. Scolding, teaching, comforting, you do it all. But you’re also a leader and a ruthless one at that.

A perfect fit Aro thinks.

——

How’d he deal with his emotions?

You are driving Aro FUCKING CRAZY.

Literally mad.

You know how to push his buttons and you are not one to do as told. So for him, he who has anyone bending to his will to see you just cock a brow at him and laugh “awe.”

He wants to choke you half to death.

You are a Queen. He tells himself. It’s to be expected that you’d challenge him.

Sulpricia finds it HILARIOUS and you two are besties. Fuck that’s all he needs. She is ever so encouraging of your independence.

He often finds himself in Sulpricia’s study pacing rampantly, “what am I going to do with her?”

“You know you like it.” Sully says lounging back on her couch. “If you didn’t you wouldn’t be so utterly ass over tea kettle.”

Aro is not good with his emotions when it comes to jealousy. And he is JEALOUS.

You’re perfect to him, utterly beautiful, you are the sun and he Icarus stupidly flying as high as he can towards you in hopes to reach the light.

You’re also inclined to let him touch you whenever you want to express things without using words— and you’ve learned to let him speak to you telepathically as well.

So often you just sit with your pinkies touching on a couch and have back and forth silently except for the occasional twitch on your lips at a humorous comment.

You’ve managed to make him huff a laugh occasionally.

But he is utterly posessive. He does not like it when men stare too long, admiring is one thing, but nothing escapes Aro.

So when a lower guard had been in trouble for an infraction and when you had disciplined him the utter disrespect for a concubine replacement was across Aro’s mind and…welll—

Guard died.

You had just looked startled and gave a ‘oh well’ kinda shrug before touching ARo’s hand. Feel better baby?

Yes you called him baby in private, so modern, and he would NEVER admit he loved it. Baby, darling, love, honey, the list went on and each one twisted his insides into ribbons of absolute adoration.

You had actually taken to the bond so well Marcus had informed him that it was practically cemented.

His only hang up was himself.

——

Who does he ask for help?

Didyme is no longer there— his dear sister, a deep sorrow as he was accidentally responsible for her death.

Marcus however is always there to be the voice of reason, and he sits Aro down and listens to his brother spill his guts. Aro is terrified, he is well aware he is THE monster that makes OTHER monsters keep in line.

But for you to look at him like that? He could never bear it. His heart would break.

Marcus sighs, “Aro come here.” He drags his brother to the training grounds.

Where Aro get’s to see his mate literally tear apart the entire guard with blades…. Did his eyes deceive him— were those made from vampire ash and fangs?!

You pause your onslaught, “oh hi darling!” You prance over and smile, “like them? My witch-smith friend made them for me! Fucking bastards kept coming for me after awhile and ya know I just hate the idea of wasting shit.”

Marcus glanced at Aro and gave him a I told you so.

“Everything okay?” You ask looking concerned. You are dragging him along as he partially willingly let’s you take him to his sister’s gardens. “What’s wrong?”

And so, he exhales and does the one thing he’s never done with his gift.

He touches your hand and shows you his own thoughts.

He expects your recoil. Expects you to shun him. Expects your hatred and braces himself for it.

You gasp and when he’s about to drag his hand away and you grip him tighter. “No don’t…let me…” and so you watch— thousands of years of memories over the course of a week or two. Asking silent questions as the images play, getting silent answers in return.

And so, in return, you show him your human life— a life that had been riddled with abusers, torment and lack of love, the iron in your spine that had solidified your creation when you had dragged yourself from an open alley way at dawn into the sewer system after being left to die being drained by a nomad after a brutal assault. You shared with him that it had taken a lot for you to even move after what had happened.

Esme had found you.

And so your friends made sure you were okay even if you didn’t follow their diet.

You both spend time going over your pasts, Aro gently asking questions and you doing the same to answer as best you could.

It was why Rosalie and you got along so well, there were some experiences one could only understand by going through it. And you both had learned how to cope with the trauma you had.

Aro is patient, both of you taking time to feel through each others wounds, taking time to rework into each others personal space.

Marcus is stunned to tell Aro that the bond is nigh unbreakable after this exchange.

The Kings magically -coughs- big brother Marcus loses his shit finding out and Caius leads the search party with Demetri— cough cough— find the nomad and he’s now in a box limb free 15 feet below the dungeon with a tube connecting him to the surface, his tongue removed and he only gets blood once a year. *Jane lit them on fire multiple times to practice her accuracy and aim*

You find out of course, and smile through the dry sobs as all three embrace you like a big protective group hug. For the first time in a very long time, it’s safe.

Truly safe.

——

What happens when he tells you?

Aro is a man of few words, and honestly not much is needed between you two with the ability to go back and forth with his gift.

So in the middle of a walk in Didyme’s gardens he merely grabs your hand gently and kisses the top of your fingers.

And you’re flooded with his emotions.

The warmth and tenderness and absolute adoration is almost enough to restart your dead heart as venom pools in your eyes. “Aro…”

He loves you, loves you more than his own life, would give anything for you to make you smile.

This isn’t the love that is complacent, to just sit idle and rust away, he wants to chase you for eternity, whatever it takes to keep you at his side.

And you flood him right back— lowering the barriers you had and after a moment he merely leans down and presses his forehead to your own, giving the two of you time to just bask in the warmth of affection that’s swirling back and forth akin to the waves of the tide under the moon and sun at twilight.

——

First Kiss?

The leaders of Volterra were in the throne room, the Queens having their own thrones behind their husbands but visible carved in different woods to represent their personalities with different intricate features much like the brother’s thrones holding different crowning points but all the same color.

Your own is the same color as Aro’s throne, but mingled with mahogany accents. Ruby red stones slotted at the top with a crescent moon and sun carving emboldened with gold spiked halo.

Caius' mate's throne is a pale color, affixed with branches and beautiful earth like tones, complimenting her grounded nature.

Marcus’ Witch Mate is merely embellished in a ash throne, deep red almost black gems and the symbol for the overall witch and vampire alliance above her throne.

With all three positions of Queen in Volterra taken up by a true mate, it is the most stable the Volturi have been in several millennia.

But that day in particular was rough, there were a few traitors that had been brought forward— and one of them had managed to get loose from Felix as Aro had been gaining information lunging for the King’s throat.

You moved so fast no one even saw you as you streaked forward like a ghost and lobbed the vampire’s head off holding a blade made of vampire teeth expertly with an animalistic snarl.

You had positioned yourself in front of Aro, crouched, blade poised and your eyes wide and wild, teeth flashing with a dangerous snarl.

Marcus’ witch had already shielded Aro but paused when she saw how enraged you were. Athena and Sulpricia had faltered, Caius looked utterly proud.

You spun round, dropping your blade— knowing Felix and the others had everything in hand as Aro had reached for you, the two of you locked in an embrace, his hands holding your face still as your own hands grasped his wrists. Foreheads pressed together—

The coven was used to this, a private conversation but you could feel the utter terror that had gone through him when he saw you out of the corner of his eye. If anything had happened to you—he was almost angry at you.

But he could easily sense the rage that had consumed you at the thought of someone hurting him. Despite knowing the guard and Jane would Never allow it, your instincts had taken over.

No one would ever take from you again.

And you had been frightened.

Behind that rage when he got past it was utter fear that he’d be gone and you’d be all alone again all the tender memories would be the last you’d have of him as you gave a dry sob before the venom dropped from your eyes— a true show of vampiric emotion that was a rarity.

“Carissima, no. I’ll not leave you that easily.” He murmured and not giving a flying fuck about anyone in the room kissed you full on the mouth gathering you up in a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered half broken against his mouth. “I’m sorry-“

“I know I know, shhh cara mia shhh,” gathering you up he merely flitted out of the room leaving the others to deal with the issue.

Tons of snuggles. He had bundled you up to him in his private rooms and merely kept your hands together enjoying the shared emotions knowing the other was close and safe.

Aro knew exactly how to calm you, he merely showed you all his favorite memories, of the coven, of his travels, the antics his brother’s got up to. He replayed the moment he first saw you.

That always made you laugh of course she swears like a sailor.

——

First Time?

It’s in an elevator.

Okay so here’s the thing. The Volturi have these massive events, and your official coronation happens at one of these.

Aro is so proud.

And so fucking jealous as you are danced across the floor with other vampires— who are oh so respectful and as they should be as Aro watches from the upper floor like an angel of death.

You look stunning, your smile lighting up the entire ballroom, friends from near and far are there— even then Cullens— God bless Carly he even had animal blood brought for him.

You’re dancing around with Nessie laughing and watching the girl child giggle like a fiend before handing her off to the Shifter Aro hated the smell but it was what it was.

Over the course of the evening he was getting awful tired of sharing you. And as the evening wound down to an end you both were just going to take the elevator back up to the private rooms as the Ballroom was on the top floor of Volterra.

The energy crackled in the small space and you both glanced at one another. It was like a short fuse had been lit on a stick of dynamite.

We’re so not doing this in an elevator are we?

You didn’t realize you had said it out loud even as you both gravitated towards one another and his hands tangled into your hair sending gold pins flying to the ground as his mouth found yours and you let out a deep moan as his tongue swiped your lips before you happily opened them.

“We’re going to be patient. Cara mia. ” He said sternly more to himself than you— then groaned when your teeth tugged gently on his bottom lip knowing it drove him crazy. “Sarai la mia morte. Sulla mia tomba scriveranno 'ha giocato con il fuoco ed è perito felicemente’” his voice became heated as his hands moved over your form, “non mi importa più, vieni da me mia fiamma, brucia con me.” You will be my death. On my grave they will write 'he played with fire and perished happily'. I don't care anymore, come to me my flame, burn with me.

His hands were gripping your backside and hauling you up, pressing himself firmly between your thighs before grinding against you. But when his teeth scraped your neck your brain shorted out—

“Oh for gods sake Aro just fuck me already—” your hands were scrabbling at his waist coat and shirt pleased how easily the buttons pinged off the walls of the elevator.

Your mate let out a pleased noise, one that was utterly inhuman when your hands tangled into his raven locks and knocked the golden V pin to the floor allowing the ocean and pomegranate scent of his to curtain you from the world as he bent his head down and kissed you as if it were the last thing he would get to do just then. Right before he smacked his hand against the emergency stop button jolting the ride to the private floor still.

If you thought his kisses were something to be swooning over— because he always knew what you needed.

Well his gift extends to much and he is in tune with it.

Your mind is his favorite place to be, and he brutally uses what he knows to his advantage as his fingers skim up your legs flinging your skirt over your thighs to teasingly grind himself against you till you’re almost clawing at him half feral.

“My pretty little mate—“ he croons at you, “you looked so beautiful cara mia,” kissing down your throat before biting marks into your flesh licking them before continuing on as his teeth jerk the fabric of your bodice and sleeves off not even bothering with his hands. “E tu sei tutto mio, cazzo.” And you’re all fucking mine.

You were busy molding your hands against his form, loving how it was just ratcheting up his half mad with desire motions, twitchy, greedy, desperate to touch, “What was it you joked about that one time?” He was referring to a memory with your best friends over drinks.

You gulped and shivered a bit. “I believe I said sometimes a girl just wants to ahem— get slammed to a wall and fucked stupid?”

He smirked as his hands tore fabric off you letting his fingers to glide along your skin, allowing your own to do the same and showing you know exactly what he liked through the bond of touch.

If you’d been human the air would have left your lungs as he pressed his body tight to your own, pinning you in place letting you feel what you did to him, the hard length of his cock pressed into your belly. “What do you say we take care of that, hm?”

You’re speaking in tongues before he even takes you fully, and roughly, there’s no slow tender love making and frankly you’re just glad for it.

His wild smile sliding into a predatory proud smirk when you’re just a mess; whining at him, begging, pleading, twitching against him and oh you’re just so pretty when at his mercy.

He literally has the tongue of the devil.

“Did I finally break you little one?” He croons despite his rough movements sending you into another shockwave of bliss as your nails make claw marks in the wall.

Fuck he had— you’ll do anything if he’ll just continue.

Your submission is like a drug, he’s mad on it, hands digging against you, making small fissures of cracks along your hips that make you groan gleeful as you push closer for more of his touches.

“That’s right bambi, give me everything.”

That’s all you hear before he’s fucking you into the wall of the elevator, sinking his teeth into your shoulder and neck just to relish in the pain and pleasure filled noises that escape from you as you beg for more, more, just please give more it’s all you want.

“My good bambi.” He growls as he begins it all over again, rumbling in your ear as your try to escape the onslaught of sensations— but happy you can’t as his grip has you immovable. “You’re not escaping me just yet.”

You’re both a mess, not that either of you care. Adjusting yourselves as best you can—

You’re lucky his private rooms are close and he simply carries you and flits you both into his rooms; you both end up continuing what was started.

——

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is a touch telepath, he knows exactly what you need.

But he also surprises you with what you didn’t even know you needed.

Snuggles, so many snuggles— Aro is not a tactile person— but with you?

Forget it.

He’s practically melting into your form and trying to fuse himself to you.

Massages, nuzzling your hair, biting.

Lots of biting— but not hard bites, love bites. Pressing his teeth to your skin to leave little imprints that he just can’t get over. You always poke fun at him for it.

Plus let’s face it.

Bite = Love.

He and Caius are on one mind with that.

He also took a note from Marcus and you both enjoy the heat of the baths together after a particularly long rough romp.

Which turns into a bath romp.

Because ahem *REASONS*

“I’m King I don’t need a reason to have you— now come here.” He’ll huff imperiously when you giggle at him as he drags you close into his embrace kissing you.

Okay he lies.

You looked too pretty in the bath.

Aro can’t help himself. That’s the reason.

——

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He is SHOOK when you tell him your favorite thing about him is his hands. You never feel misunderstood.

Even in the rare fights you simply huff and reach out to him, wiggling your fingers with a pleading glance; or if he won’t take your hand you’ll walk over sit in his lap and headbutt your forehead to his like an angry cat.

But usually Aro will take your hand and you both have a deep understanding of where you’re both coming from.

After a few moments it’s settled.

You kiss his hands, he knows you love how he plays you like a finely tuned instrument when alone.

Love when he delves his fingers into your hair and cradles you close even if you’re in the throne room— he’s the fucking king he can do what he likes damn it.

But Aro is startled by this— everyone hates touching him even though he can control his gift, they seem to think that— aside from his brothers and sister in laws— that he just loves to dive into people’s minds for funsies.

No it’s awful. Plain awful. He can barely stand his own mind why would he want to traverse someone else’s?

But that brings us to what he likes about you— he LOVES your head space. When he’s stressed it’s his favorite place to be because you have a vivid imagination, as a writer as well you show him stories you’ve thought of and worlds you’ve created with vivid detail. He finds it quite amusing to use watch your thoughts too on a daily, you like it simply because he’s close.

But aside from that it’s you.

Just You.

Just ALL of you.

He can’t pick don’t make the man pick, he would just keep you near him for eternity which you seem to have no issues with.

———

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically…I am a disgusting person…)

He is quite a posessive person.

Two Words:

Breeding Kink

You’re his and his alone, so the idea of ah— claiming you that way just sends him off into the ether.

The fact that you both have a breeding kink and literally can’t have kids is a GREAT thing because you’ve literally sat there a absolute mess after round five and thought out loud as he tenderly cleans you up, “shit thank god we can’t reproduce because I am 100% sure that’d have knocked my ass up—” which has had him shaking in mirth having to pause to control himself after a few moments.

Beg him for it.

Make that whining needy noise in the back of your throat at him for him to finally give you what you need.

He’ll just lose it, pin you by the throat and well— you’ve broken a few beds this way.

He has no shame.

Just glances at the bed, hits speed dial to the furniture store and orders a new one.

His only other favorite thing with C as he soon found out from O (you’ll see) was he adores when you swallow down everything he gives you. That’s got him rumbling in Italian about what a good girl you are and how much you please him.

———

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s a MASSIVE Pleasure Dom. And when I say Dom.

HE GOT DOM ENERGY.

With very mild Sadistic tendencies. (Thanks a lot Caius ya pervy fucker)

However he is also a very sincere soft streak when you’re a very good pet.

He picked up pet play from his sadistic brother hearing him call his amore Bunny. One day down the rabbit hole that is Google and he was hooked.

But he calls you Bambi. It’s an Italian term for baby-girl.

It also works because you become like a damn deer in the headlights when he pulls the Dominant voice on you.

It thrums with a low purr and has the capability to just make your brain go wait what?

HE’S A FUCKING SWITCH.

You had been pissed as shit at him. “I don’t know whether I want to strangle you or fuck you to death!” You paused because you had literally throat pinned him to the wall, the stone crumbling beneath him, feeling the muscles of his neck working as he swallowed nervously.

You were about to let go but saw his eyes had gone totally black and expectant and startled but excited.

He was just as fucking confused as you both calculated in a matter of seconds what had happened.

You were first to catch on. “Oh?….OH...….oooooohhhhhhh ….. you….you son of a….” You sputtered as he got a sly grin, “you can’t just look at me like— you are so ill behaved!!”

He wasn’t far behind and raised a black brow at you looking mischievous, “…..and what are you going to do about it mia regina?”

Next thing he knew he was face planted on his office floor with your boot pressed on his cheek making him groan low. “Gonna make you regret mouthing off to me is what I’m going to do my Aro.”

Edge him. Don’t let him touch you all day till he begs. He loves when you exert your authority especially on him? Oh forget it.

Queen Slay.

Literally you are his Queen and you are the only one who get’s to fucking tell him what to do.

And you ruthlessly do so when he’s in the mood. All you hear is “mia regina?” He’ll croon at you, as your hand comes up and drags him to you by his tie.

“would you like to be of service to me Aro?”

Magic words. He’s done, let him have you and he will literally just focus on your pleasure.

Worship Kink.

You had dropped to your knees at his desk and laid your head in his lap and he almost lost his god damn mind. You purred at him, “il mio maestro”.

Aro .exe has stopped fucking working.

———

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Thanks to the tactile telepathy as well as the fact that he and his brothers have slept their way through history, Aro is a very mixed lover.

When I say greedy as a lover, he wants your pleasure for himself. And will literally drive you to it till you’re sobbing for mercy.

He has none.

But he does take pity on you when he knows you’re truly at your limit with touch.

You weren’t inexperienced but his own experience blew yours out of the damn water. Can literally have you on the edge in mere minuets. And is SMUG about it.

Fucking smug bastard just watching you with that smirk on his face and a ‘well?’ Kinda expression.

You have to beg if you want it.

You have to plead, you have to let him hear you or he’ll just keep going and I quote ‘hmmm I can’t hear you cara mia, you’re being so quiet you know that makes me want to fuck you harder, come now, let me hear you— don’t make me have to drag it from you baby girl. You know I love to hear your sweet sounds.”

Could probably kill you if you weren’t already dead with what he can do with his hands.

His tongue is even better.

When asked which you preferred you had just panted desperately after a hard orgasm, “any. All. Both. God just…holy fuck.”

He cracked up over that. “My poor baby I broke her.”

————

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Loves having you in his lap.

Prefers to see your face and eyes, seems to need it.

But occasionally he just loves gripping your neck from behind and feeling you gasp against his grip as he slams into you roughly.

Adores anything that has you clinging onto him for dear life.

Likes being in a position to mark you. Favorite thing ever.

You had once tested his patience (willfully hoping for this outcome) a bit too much and he had pinned you completely immobile to the desk of his office and fucked you within an inch of your immortal life gagging you with his black tie.

“you just have to test me don’t you mia regina?” He had growled in your ear leaning over you, his hand crunching the ornate wood to splinters as you keened and whined for him to keep going. “Such a ill behaved thing you are, should just keep you here like this for when I please hm?”

He was not joking, you were kept there quite happily under his desk sitting at his feet your head on his lap waiting and absolutely willing.

He could feel your hands grip his thighs, “quit that I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work—“ his voice teetered off in a guttural growl as he looked down.

You were biting his shirt looking up at him already nudging yourself between his thighs your teeth digging into his trouser zipper and tugging down.

his hands were gripping your hair jerking you up to kiss him deep, a growl against your lips, “Fucking damn it— come here.”

When you can get him to swear which is rare— yeah…

He didn’t exactly sound angry.

But he sure fucked you like he was though.

“This is what you were after hm? You brat!” A harsh laugh as he pinned you down a bit harder, “fine then I should ensure you’re good….and….sated…shouldn’t I bambi?”

———

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Very sincere.

Teasing but only in a very sexual way.

Borders on humiliation but he respects you too much.

Very serious though when he focuses on you.

He’s focusing on all the sensations you’re sending him, letting you know what he’s feeling as well which just sets you into the damn ether.

———

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It’s ARO.

The man is vain.

The man is neat.

Clean and pristine.

He’d give a regal huff of annoyance, “I am not a heathen darling.”

———

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Ohhh you wouldn’t know it but he’s such a god damn romantic.

He is. And he MAKES time for you. The schedules are changed so you have time together more often— something that was never done before.

Operas, romantic walks out in Volterra at night.

Sightseeing.

Your favorite was your trip to Germany in the winter with a big cozy cottage and a big fire and lots of bedding to ahem— destroy.

Aro has penguin brain.

He brings you small gifts that made him think of you— you have a bracelet that has special charms he had custom made for you, a lochness monster for when you met, a castle obviously for Volterra, a doe, different tiny items that speckled through your life, each one means something— you hardly ever take it off.

You have a collection of very sparkly stones in many jars that he found on his missions.

They are actually gemstones— insert eye roll— they set off pretty prisms through your shared rooms.

“Aren’t you going to make jewelry of them?” Aro asks.

“No darling they are perfect just as they are.” You smile.

Aro actually has the literal voice of a damn angel.

He sings to you in Italian, soft dulcet sweet tones and dances you around your rooms teasing you relentlessly.

Aro writes beautiful poetry. He will at least write one every few months when inspiration comes to him.

You have your own private box at the opera house. As well as being allowed to fund artists across the world, you’ve found incredible talent on broadway and other venues.

Flowers. Aro ensures care for a private greenhouse for you on the roof, each flower has a meaning, and they all bloom year round given the proper temperatures on the greenhouse. “Why would I send you flowers when they die so easily.” He asks kissing your cheek as you smile over the new blooms. “This is everlasting, much more fitting.” He muses.

All his poetry is in a beautiful book Caius got you for your birthday.

———

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Why would he do that when he has you?

He is a patient man.

He can wait.

And he has pristine control over himself.

He is too old for pre-pubescent raging hormone crap.

But he will legit melt for you if you do it for him. Prefers it slow, enjoying your touch and loves to watch as you take instruction.

You’re such a good girl for him.

————

———

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Aro is a kinky bastard.

MASSIVE Pleasure Dom.

Worship Kink.

Edging.

Controlling Orgasms *you don’t get to come till he gives permission*

Collaring *your Volturi necklace is LITERALLY on a collar*

Overstimulation. *his gift allows him to know when you’re pushed to hard and when you can take a bit more. When you’re craving that over stimulus, he’ll give it happily. Knowing he can turn you into a babbling speaking in tongues, drooling, eyes rolling back mess just— just— GAH.*

Breeding Kink *Aro has a true breeding kink, ask him to fill you up beg him for it and he’s going to lose his mind.*

Gagging. *he loves to gag you, but also loves being choked by you or you grabbing onto his tie.

Wax Play *you’re a fire elemental user, bringing candles into play is just oh it’s nice. * Prefers to have it done TO him. Your air element gift also allows you to cool the wax quickly and give new sensations.

————

———

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Aro is private, he prefers somewhere comfortable to take his sweet time with you.

Rooms Private, hotel, somewhere he can just lavish you and enjoy everything you can give him.

He’d rather take the time to find a nice comfy setting.

But every blue moon— he’ll just look at you in that specific dress molding to your thighs.

He will drag you into an alley way and just rail the shit out of you keeping you quiet with a firm grip over your mouth as he hisses the dirtiest things in your ear.

You two once had a quick rendezvous in a changing room at a theatre. -shrug- it was empty oh well.

———

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

“Master?” You bat your eyes at him

His nostrils flare as he breathes in and just knows exactly what you want and you smell so fucking good.

The tone you use.

He knows. You want him. That’s it.

Unless it’s a trial— and DO NOT DO THIS BEFORE TRIAL.

And if you happen to when he takes your hand send him your fantasies after seeing him standing there all regal and watching his mouth form syllables so well and how much better it’ll be with his mouth— ahem— busy somewhere else.

He will be so mad at you.

He’s glaring at you behind a mask of calm and you can feel the fucking tremor in his limbs.

You just bat your eyes innocently at him and smile.

His face: you’re in SO MUCH trouble.

Brat energy??? During Trial?!??! Now is that the time to give brat energy!!???

Oh. Oh. oh you are so in trouble. When he gets done with ripping some poor idiots head off— okay not really they broke the rules— stalks over to you; grabs you by your oh so pretty collar, “come with me bambi.”

And just pulls you along to your rooms with you giggling the whole way and practically prancing behind him like a— well like a doe prancing into a lions den.

He’s tossed you over his shoulder once and just flitted out of the rooms into your private chambers, hurling you onto the bed before ripping into your clothing. “You best be ready for your punishment.”

“Oooohhhhhh absolutly master.”

“that’s my girl.”

The coven just rolls their eyes. Aro is less manic with you there and you surprisingly bring ease to the coven— so ya know what if that’s what does it whatever.

————

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Humiliation. No.

Impact play is one thing, but to intentionally hurt you no.

If he does impact play one hand is always touching you to ensure you’re okay.

————

———

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving? The man has a wicked tongue.

His oral game is LEGIT.

Will have you in a puddle of twitching ecstasy in mere moments of teasing because he knows where to touch and that’s not just his tongue but his hands.

Will kiss you all over before even getting to the ahem— final destination.

You’re either ready to combust or ready to strangle him when he finally just begins to devour you.

Eats pussy like a man starved but has all the time to enjoy.

Smug as Fuck.

Expect him to just watch you as you’re coming back down from the absolute height he threw you up to and glaring down at his smug grin as he waits before beginning all over again.

Will go all night if you’ve been ill behaved.

Your record is 20 before you BEGGED for a break.

He finally took pity and gave you a warm bubble bath and snuggles and praises.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like receiving, however it was more just a “hm, that’s nice—“

But with you.

Especially when you had decided to walk into his office, lay your head in his lap as you had sat yourself under his desk so he could work while he played with your hair (you have a comfy cushion there who was he to argue if that was the best way to be close and he could get work done??!!)

But his work was abruptly halted when you had nuzzled his cock through his trousers dragging your mouth wide as he became painfully hard in record time.

“what is it you think you’re doing bambi?” He purred looking oh so curious.

“Nothing.” You muffled around him as your teeth found his zipper and trouser buttons with a rather feral sound.

Upon finding out you had no gag reflex and having your nose buried in his pelvis as you moaned around him he was done for and he didn’t even care.

Work was forgotten.

Loves when you pleasure him, but of course has to be in control for the most part.

Buries his hands into your hair and loves throat fucking you, praising you the entire time. “What a good thing you don’t need to breathe dolcezza.”

You had hummed around him ecstatically.

The reward for this is always drool worthy.

Play with yourself as you do and let him see you do so keeping your clothing out of the way and you’ll have him break finally, that cool haughty composure cracking as his gaze goes just utterly uncontrollably wild, his hips moving a bit harder.

————

———

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

You both fuck rough.

But you both also love the slow and sensual moments too.

Especially if you have the time to just drown in one another.

It just depends on the situation.

Rough And Fast:

Slow and Sensual is how it usually starts off, he’s so attentive, so soft and cherishes you, that is till you growl at him for more and he has of course no other option but to give you what he wants.

You’re his queen after all what kind of mate would he be if he didn’t give in?

But has today been exceedingly trying for either of you?

Or is your mate quite amped up from a particularly rough trial?

You’ve been pestering him haven’t you? Hmmm.. yeah buckle up.

You’re in trouble and therefore need to relearn where your place is— it’s in your bed, beneath him losing your mind out of pleasure.

And he is all too happy to provide that lesson if you seem to forget.

You try to forget often. You damn brat.

Slow and Sensual

However sometimes he just wants to be gentle. And frankly so do you, you want to just bask in the bond you have and slowly explore all over again despite knowing you have memorized one another to heart by now.

Doesn’t matter, you still find things that surprise you, things that make you smile.

Places that when touched cause a jolt— well that’s new.

“I could spend my entire life mapping out your body carissima.”

“that’s an awful long time in bed.”

Aro would just smirk kissing down your sternum, “oh what a pity— I suppose my brothers shall have to cover for me hm?” Bite marks being pressed into your flesh, “I plan on leaving so many of these that I forget where they are so I can find them later.”

“Such an evil overlord.” But you’re giddy, he’s going to make your entire world tilt again with those slow careful hands of his and you’re going to enjoy every second of it.

———

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

You’d be surprised that such a patient man could be so damn impatient for you.

He’s not as impatient as Caius but not AS patient as Marcus.

So it’s a toss up when he’s twitchy during trials and catches a glimpse of you floating down the hallway in all your grandure and he mentally tosses a coin.

Nope he can’t take it that flash of leg just set him off.

“Excuse me I do belive I remembered something that needs my attention.”

The others just inwardly roll their eyes.

Next thing you know you’re gagged by his tie in his office pinned over the desk with his teeth buried in your neck and frankly you expected this you wore that damn skirt with the slit in it to tease him.

Seeing this just makes him let out a feral noise and a laugh at the end, “oh you planned that hm?” He nibbles the outer shell of your ear, “missed me did you?”

You can only nod as he continues, eyes rolling back as he knows exactly what you’re needing and it’s certainly not gentle right now.

“I have exactly fifteen minutes before my brothers come looking for me— think you can be a good girl and make me come?”

You smirk against the gag in your mouth before purring at him; and it’s off to the races.

He’s in trouble quite often for this— but who’s to argue with him.

He’s king he can do what he wants…. At times….

Okay most of the time.

Plus he’s always in a MUCH better mood.

I wonder Why.

————

———

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

While Aro does love to experiment your safety is his utmost importance.

But he’s a curious bastard and you are right behind him on that scale so sometimes your games become a bit risky.

Never life threatening but oh boy do you two get a grin and just glance at one another, “you know we haven’t done that yet.”

“No…. No we haven’t….”

And that’s how it usually starts.

The worst thing you two can realize is you both utter “I don’t know”.

Well now you have to know if either of you are able to ahem— arrive— under rather dire circumstances such as utilizing your gift (don’t worry your gift doesn’t hurt him he knows how to use fire too surprise surprise.).

You almost had a heart attack though and nearly killed him after.

He just cackled that manic laugh that had you joining in after hitting him several times.

———

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Need I say more than one word?

Vampire.

Aro takes his time most occasions, his slow, slow sweet time.

Now— you’d THINK that the rougher encounters would last a shorter period.

You’re wrong.

So wrong.

He lives for it you’re going to be so happy you’re a vampire and can’t really get sore except for when you both leave cracking handprints on one another.

————

———

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Sensory.

Crops, leather gloves, feathers, ben wa balls are huge and he likes that they are silent but give you that teasing sensation. Wax candle play is huge for both of you and you enjoy long luxurious heated baths and sauna sessions with one another.

Ooooo he loves it.

Leather gloves area huge thing for him but not for what you’d think— he likes to challenge himself.

Sure he can know what you’re feeling but he wants to be in tune with your physical responses as well and so occasionally he dons them just to test his knowledge.

Damn smug overlord is just as good and you hate it and now he’s smirking at you while popping his jaw with his hand on his elbow waiting for you to come back into your body.

“Shut up.” You rasp as your head spins.

“I didn’t say anything.” His raven hair slides across his face as he grins wider.

“Your SMUGNESS IS LOUD ARO.”

“Me?! Smug! Why I never…” -cue the dark chuckle before he starts it up all over again, “maybe once more to ensure you remember it’s not just the gifts edge hm?”

“Ohhhh I’m going to die.” But you reach for him biting his leather clad hands.

“No you won’t.” He hums happily, “I won’t let you. You’re not allowed to leave me bambi.”

————

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

HE IS SO DAMN UNFAIR.

But so are you.

He’s not as bad as Caius but he is close, and he only does it with LOOKS.

His eyes are utterly expressive, as is that mouth of his, so when he glances at you in just the right way you can feel it drop down in your gut and sizzle.

And he does it during trial. Oh but when you do it you’re in trouble. Psh.

He’ll tease you and brush your hand as he walks by just to know that you’re basically twitching from frustration at the end of the day and about to boil over as he leans down and licks your neck. “Bambi, awe, was I too mean to you? Hmm I should make it up to you shouldn’t I?”

He always makes it up to you.

The man has the best ways to use his mouth aside from running the coven and giving orders.

————

———

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Aro was quite clear studies, and private rooms were to be soundproofed.

He’s loud, swearing (which he normally does not do), praising mess of a man, it’s needed.

And you love it.

You can practically feel the vibration in his chest when he purrs at you, less growling, he’s not as violent unless you get him too worked up.

No no no, he loves making you melt, and knows exactly what to croon at you to make your mind go blank.

———

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He’s more posessive than Marcus. And that bleeds into a protective nature.

A bit controlling, but he knows very well he can’t do that to you as he had to Sulprica. BUT it doesn’t stop him from trying as gods forbid anything happen to you.

Less Jealous than Caius.

But his ah— mood swings can cause for quite an interesting feat.

Since Marcus and Caius were always the brunt of the bashing and warfare, and he the brains behind the operation, many seem to think he has no bite marks on his body due to not being in the fray.

No.

The problem is Aro becomes too violent. Especially because of his talent when touching his victims it tends to become a frenzy. Once he had decimated an entire coven single handedly because the rage they had was swamping him.

His brothers had to pin him down and try to relay calm emotions— his sister Didyme thankfully had been the one to bring him back.

You yourself are now that calm place.

At one point, a guard had been careless enough to have thought about you in ah— that way— Aro was aware you were quite beautiful, your personality no nonsense and many of the guard and lower guard considered you a maternal figure almost otherwise a very good friend.

But this guard.

Ohhh he coveted. What was not his.

But what was worse, was that on the way to the throne room he had spoken to you rather crassly, you merely ignored him; he wasn’t even worth your time. But he had glanced you over as if you were a rather tasty morsel, the imaginings of you spread out beneath him had Aro’s hands cracking his wrists.

You saw the change slightly as you were behind him. His spine went poker straight. “You dare.” It was worse, the guard had actually tried to think of how to lure you away to him— you were a queen so surely infidelity was expected—

The rumble in his chest was a whole new sound you’d never even heard.

Both Marcus and Caius were sitting straight up and narrowing their gaze at Aro before Marcus flitted over and guided you to Aro’s throne placing you on it and standing protectively in front of you.

“Marcus?” you peered behind the eldest king and he hushed you gently.

The guard was torn apart in mere seconds.

It was utterly ruthless and with no mercy.

“People tend to forget Aro is only about a thousand years younger than I.” Marcus muttered.

You blinked. Aro was at least five thousand meaning that Marcus was Six, Caius being the youngest at three.

Aro speared the entire guard with a terrifyingly cold glare before flitting over to you, gripping your head back by your hair and sinking his teeth into your shoulder and neck with a low growl.

The sentiment was well understood as the entire guard backed the fuck away from the dais— he closed the wound before his head shot up and he snarled at the coven tucking you into his embrace your face buried into his robes. “She is mine.” It was a quiet, soft voice that spoke.

“Aro.” you muffled tugging his sleeve and looking up at him.

He showed you “what he had seen and tilted his head. Would you mind cara?”

You lit the bastard on fire with a scowl aimed at the body winding your arms about Aro’s waist and nuzzling into his solid form.

A soft kiss in your hair, his body relaxing. “That’s my bambi.”

———

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Aro although he is lithe and tall….he’s not exactly easy to handle.

9” decent width, knows how to use it.

Be forewarned, he knows what he’s doing.

Tactile Telepathy, good luck remember to keep your head on straight.

————

———

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s less of a wistful like of yearning.

And more a burning bonfire of desire always in the wing of his mind ready to take over the forefront.

One glance at you and he wants you— granted he thinks it might cool down over the centuries but when you look at him like that and bite your lip and grin.

Nah.

Nope. This isn’t going away. Not at all.

He of course has excellent control so he is able to push other desires to the back of his mind, but once finished you are certainly at the front of the line.

Super high.

You both are insane.

You can be sitting reading and next moment with one small brush you’re gone from the library and you’ve tackled him through the doors of your rooms and pinned him to the floor.

Insatiable.

Good luck!

————

———

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Aro LOVES resting with you.

He likes to just lay with his hands on your body and watching your thoughts, you’re his favorite mind to go through and he just adores it.

You both can spend hours like this if you were allowed—

He likes when you drag your fingers through his hair.

Makes him melt.

Kiss across his eyes and kiss his hands as he brushes your mouth with his fingers trying to learn you all over again.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.” He murmurs to you lazily. He has you nestled in his arms your head tucked under his jaw.

“That’s fucking fine by me.” You giggle.

He rolls his eyes and huffs a soft laugh kissing the top of your head. “Of course she swears like a sailor…”

#aro volturi

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valberryy · 3 years

Text

oh, eurydice (it's an awful sound). — venti

de l'autre côté de l'eau, comme un écho. / tu dis que c'est la fin du monde, c'est ton silence mon eau profonde.

um,, idk what to say cause i dont want this to b my venti summoning post but. anyways. also tagging @starfell-traveler look i finished it!!!! b proud of me /hj

pairing: venti x gn!reader

content warnings: mentions/descriptions of alcohol & blood/injuries, major character death, it's just heavy angst i'm sorry

one.

Venti still remembers the first time he heard you laugh, warm and clear and bright, like the chiming of cathedral-bells.

In those golden days when he was getting used to his new face, he often found himself wandering—much to the chagrin of his friends. If he wasn't in one of the many taverns of the newly-built Mondstadt, he was wandering these new, free lands.

And that was how he met you, the spritely scion of house Gunnhildr, who had strayed away from your envoy with a bottle of wine and leaves in your hair. He noted the mischief dancing in your eyes, the sunlight dappling on your skin, the way your mouth formed a small "o" when you saw you were not alone.

Your eyes had lit up when you caught sight of him. "Oh, my lord!" you called, "Fancy a cup and a chat, perhaps?"

Venti stood still for a moment to ponder your request, but at the sound of you popping the cork off the bottle and pouring it into a cup you had brought, he found his resolve weakening. He took a seat next to you as you pulled a stray leaf from your hair, taking a sip from your cup before passing it to him.

How brazen of you, he mused.

While cherry wine, in his opinion, could never hold a candle to the dandelion wine he had grown fond of, it tasted all the sweeter coming from you.

You had laughed at this sentiment of his, clear as the water from the lake nearby. "Is that so?" you asked. "Perhaps I'll bring some more of this kind especially for you, dearest bard."

Venti responded with a playful pluck at his lyre-strings. "I'd prefer if you called me by my name, young master Gunnhildr."

"And what would that be?"

Just as he was about to respond, the two of you caught wind of voices yelling out your name, and you flinched. "That must be for me," you said. "I shouldn't have expected to be able to hide forever."

He helped you stand, stretching out his arm to pull you up—your hand was soft and warm against his own, and the "thank you," that rolled from your lips made his heart flutter in a way he wasn't used to.

"I'd love to see you again," you said, and he smiled.

"You talk as if this is goodbye forever!" Venti joked. "We can meet here again, if you so wish."

"Then it is done," you said, and squeezed his hand as if in confirmation of your new arrangement.

And with the lightest press of your wine-stained lips to his cheek, you had run off without another word—only the sound of your distant laughter and, "Sorry, sorry! I'm back now, mother!" left in your wake.

two.

That promise had soon become habit, and habit a new way of life—one wherein you would sneak away from the rest of your family to rendezvous with Venti in the forest, to share wine and song and sweet, honeyed words alike.

(And as time wore on, you pressed your wine-stained lips to more places than just his cheek, and the cheeky bastard would have you do it again, and again, and again.)

"What d'you reckon your family would say if they figured out you were sneaking away for this?" Venti mused, "Like a hero in a romance novel."

With a laugh, you lay your head over his lap and smiled when his hand came to rest in your hair, his fingers gently playing with the strands. "Scold me, I suppose," you said. "There are worse fates than not being allowed outside for a month, my love."

You plucked a stray dandelion out of his hair, blowing the seeds to the wind.

"Hmm? And what would those be, I wonder?"

"...You're so infuriating, Venti," you grumbled, and he simply laughed and took another sip of wine—elderflower this time, tasting like spring upon his tongue. "I can't even dare imply that I want to be with you forever without you teasing me for it—what kind of lover are you? Hmph."

He paused, a teasing grin growing on his lips despite your previous words. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

An odd noise left your throat. "I mean," you said, "unless you want me to take your surname instead? ...Now that I think about it, Venti Gunnhildr doesn't quite sound the best."

A laugh, first from him, soon followed by one of your own. "Your family won't allow it, would they? But if the fates allow…there's nothing I'd love more than to be with you," he said. Gently he untangled his fingers from your hair, weaving his fingers between your own instead. "That is, if you want it too?"

A world of just you and him, a life where he would never have to stray far from your side—perhaps this was what Amos so desperately craved for, in those days. Venti watched as you removed the signet ring from your pointer finger and fit it snugly on his own, admiring your handiwork and smiling up at him.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

three.

Somehow it felt odd to see you in clothes other than the casual attire he had always seen you in. When you were seated upon your horse like this, dressed in richly-dyed leathers and embroidered silks with your family crest hanging proudly from your breast pocket, you seemed much less like the cheeky [Name] that would pluck his lyre from his hands to play your own tune, and more like the young scion of house Gunnhildr that the rest of the world saw you as.

"I'm sorry, dearest," you said, your voice thick with regret. "They only told me about this last night, so I've had no time to tell you… And father wouldn't let me refuse, so—"

Venti laughed, "When did you become such a worrywart? It's only one round of hunting, right? I'll be waiting for you back here."

You huffed, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his lips. "Then I'll be sure to hurry on back to you."

He pulled you back down for another kiss, square on the lips this time, before letting you go. "Don't miss!" he said, calling after your horse, to which you turned and yelled back at him,

"If I do, it's your fault!"

He laughed, settling down beneath a tree and closing his eyes. You'd be there to wake him when you returned.

When Venti awoke, it was not to your hand shaking his shoulder but to a thud and the worried whinnying of a horse. His eyes snapped open as you groaned, one hand clutching your stomach and the other propping you up. When you caught his gaze you smiled weakly, too much blood in your teeth and not enough light in your eyes.

"I'm back, dearest," you said, and he had stumbled over to catch you before your arm gave out.

He pressed down on your torso, where three large gashes ran down from your chest down to your stomach, large and jagged as if from the claws of a bear. You groaned in pain and he pressed a kiss to your hand in apology, your skin pale and clammy in a way that reminded him too much of harsh, cold winds and a boy with his lyre.

"You should've seen me, Venti," you breathed, "I shot it right in the throat…are you proud of me?"

"Very," he said. "I'll always be proud of you."

You laughed, broken and pained and sad. "Good," you said, "good." Then you looked up at him, the tears welling in his eyes, the reality of his fate—your fate—finally looming upon him. "Don't look at me like that, love," you cooed. "Please, smile for me, okay? Sing for me…can you spare me at least that much?"

His grip on your hand tightened. "All of that and so much more, dandelion," he said. "Please…"

"So much more, huh…" you mused. "Then, how about one last kiss before I go?"

"...You talk as if this is goodbye," he says, but doesn't protest when you pull him down by the collar, your red-stained lips pressing weakly against his—

—But instead of the sweetness of wine, there was only the sharp bitterness of your blood in his mouth.

four.

"How far would you go for me?" was something Venti had thrown around a lot, never expecting you to give him a straight answer—not with how you shoved his shoulder and said, "Just because there wasn't a ceremony doesn't mean I'm not your spouse, Venti. Wouldn't the answer be obvious?"

But he still recalled the first time he had asked you and the first time you answered, your fingers tangled with his and your head buried in the crook of his neck. Your voice had been softer, gentler, lacking the playful edge but just as genuine as always, "From the deepest depths of the ocean to the highest to the highest peaks in the sky," you said, "Until my hands wither away into dust."

"Maybe you're the bard instead of me, love," he had said, then.

In this new world without you he found himself clinging to whatever remnants of you he could—the dappled sunlight in the forest, the slightest sting of alcohol going down, the glint of your family crest on the ring that adorned his finger.

One of his many laments was how he could never mourn you in the way he felt you deserved—he had not the power to turn back time, lacked the dominion over anything static and permanent to immortalise you with. He only had his lyre and his voice and his winds, and all he could do was paint the skies grey in his grief, have the gales sing requiems that you would never hear.

From the deepest depths of the ocean to the highest peaks in the sky he would go for you and back—and if the darkest depths of this world contained the secret to getting you back, perhaps even a mere spirit on the wind could bear the trek through the dark.

(After all, Venti knew in his heart of hearts that you would have done the same for him.)

The heart of the Abyss wasn't a land of mindless bloodshed and fire—it was cold and calculating, like a predator lying in wait. It was this place, in the depths of Teyvat and in the winding depths of their palace, that he knew could somehow bring you back to him.

"Are you the one for whom the skies wept, bard?"

Venti swallowed down the lump in his throat. "I am," he said. "I want a deal."

The person before him raised an eyebrow, canting their head to the side.

"One life," they said, "and no second chances."

Cold, and calculating, and inevitable—but still he would try. Venti owed you at least that much, no?

five.

He squeezed your hand as you trailed behind him, muttering to himself: don't look back, don't look back, don't look back. No matter how much he longed to hold you, to see your face and feel your skin beneath his, he kept his gaze to his feet as you both moved onwards into the dark.

(When he saw you again, just as beautiful as the day he lost you, he dropped his lyre to run into your arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck and surrounding himself with only you, you, you.

"Venti," you said, and he nearly wept at the way his name rolled from your tongue. "Let's go home.")

You squeezed his hand back, so gently that he almost couldn't believe you were really there. "Why don't you sing me a song, dearest?" you quipped. "Anything you like."

In spite of himself, in spite of the cold around him and behind him and in his own hand, he smiled. "Have I ever sung you the one with the mist flower and the sparrow?"

He heard you huff behind him. "That one again? You know how bad I am at hitting the notes in that!"

"Hmm, sure, sounds like an excuse to me…"

"Venti!"

He laughed and squeezed your hand again, as if to remind himself—you were here, and he was taking you home, and you would be able to feel the sun on your skin and taste wine from his cup in the way you had always loved. He would be able to write you songs and guide your hands across his lyre, and he need never stray far from your side.

You need never go somewhere where he couldn't follow.

"We're almost there," he said, resisting the urge to turn around to smile at you. "There's a bottle of wine waiting for us. It wouldn't do us any good to leave it for too long, you know?"

He squeezed your hand again, but you didn't respond.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat. His footsteps hastened, quicker and quicker until he was near-running towards where he knew the surface lay. Had he been tricked? Were you never there all along? Had you gotten lost, or fallen, or left, and left some other person in your stead?

Anxiety clutched at his heart like brambles, and Venti found his mind wandering back to those days with the wintery winds and the friends he had lost to the storms. Not again, he prayed, please, never again.

He ran until his legs ached, ran until the first drop of sunlight finally kissed his skin, and he let go of your hand to turn around—

—to see your face still shrouded in darkness, your eyes wide, your hand still reaching out for him.

"What?" he breathed, "No, please, I can't lose you again—"

You smiled, and though your teeth weren't coated in blood and your body was free from any wounds, Venti's heart had sunk even further than when he had caught you that day.

"No, love, please, I'm sorry—"

"Venti," you said, "I'll see you again soon, okay?"

"Please—"

"I love you."

With whatever time you had left, you reached out further to brush the tips of your fingers against his cheek. "Smile for me, okay? Sing me one last song…"

And before he could reach out to you again, you had once again gone somewhere he couldn't reach.

(Yours was a song he sang without end, even when all of Mondstadt had forgotten your name—and even when he felt like he didn't deserve to bear your memory.

On days when he uncorked a bottle of cherry wine or caught the Acting Grandmaster's eye, Venti found himself staring down at the ring you had placed on his finger in those golden days—and if he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to it the way you had done to him, he swears he can still hear your laugh, warm and clear and bright.)

#pls ignore how messy it gets towards the end im sorry i couldnt brain n e more #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact x reader #venti x reader #bee writes

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troubatrain · 3 years

Text

together by this christmas tree - p.l. dubois

a/n: happy december, so because The Maine’s Ho Ho Hopefully is a god tier Christmas song and I forgot how to write anything else heres like 5 words of just fluff. big shoutout to @prettyboybarzal for letting me just dump this fic on her for a few days so i could fuck around with the plot you are a queen!!

Pierre was in Los Angeles.

At any other time, he’d be pretty happy. The long West Coast road trip was one of Pierre’s favorites, he got to spend some time with his teammate’s, enjoy the warm weather, and play a few games that would hopefully end in a win. This time, however, he was sulking in his hotel room because he wished he was in Columbus. It was the first day of December, and Pierre knew that meant one thing - You were undoubtedly getting ready for the holiday season in whatever ways you knew how.

You stumbled into Pierre’s life by accident - literally. When Phillip was just a puppy, Pierre had taken him on a run. The French Bulldog pulled him with all his strength, causing you, who’d been looking at your phone to trip right over his leash. You assured Pierre it was fine, but while you were explaining to him that you had dogs growing up and sometimes shit happens your elbow had been bleeding before you could finish your sentence. Pierre offered to help you out, given his own apartment was barely a block away, and you’d been friends ever since. Friends. Just friends.

“Just tell her,” Tex says from the bed next to him, his road roommate having enough of watching Pierre sulk around their hotel room, “I’m tired of this.”

“Tired of what?” Pierre asks, his eyebrows raising.

“This, the thinking about Y/N all the time,” Tex exasperates dramatically, he sighs, putting on his best impersonation of his teammate, “Y/N’s watching the dogs while I’m away. Y/N and I are trying that new French restaurant downtown. Y/N’s favorite holiday is Christmas and I’m not decorating with her. Dude, you’re in love with her, just tell her. I’m sure she feels the same way.”

“What if she doesn’t?” Pierre asks, finally admitting the real reason he’s yet to say anything. Pierre had been rejected a few times in his life, but he never let it get to him. That was because those people didn’t matter the way you did. You knew everything about him. You knew the way he took his coffee and the way he hated being woken up. You knew Pierre better than you knew yourself, and losing that was the first thing that’s ever really scared him.

“Well you won’t know if you don’t do something about it,” Tex sighs, frustrated with his two friends, “Or you’ve got to let her go.”

Tex walked out of their hotel room after he spoke, undoubtedly to get away from Pierre’s energy that was clouding the room. Pierre sighs, rolling over to the otherside of his bed and pulling up your contact. He did the math internally in his head for a moment, trying to figure out if you’d be asleep or not - smiling to himself when he realized you were probably still up.

“Shouldn’t you be at some fancy LA restaurant?” You chirp, smiling on the other side of the phone when you pick up the Facetime call. You were home, but Pierre could see two familiar figures snuggled together on her couch. You had become Pierre’s accidental dog sitter at the beginning of the season. He put finding one on the backburner, and when it came close to the start of the season, he was coming up empty. You offered three different times before Pierre finally came to his senses and said yes, not because he didn’t trust you, it was because if he had to watch his dogs love you as much as he does - he was never going to recover.

“Shouldn’t you be decorating for Christmas?” Pierre smirks, knowing exactly what the first day of December meant to his friend.

You loved Christmas, like in the type of way that made Pierre envious that anyone could be that happy from a holiday, and the first day of December was the day you went all out. A tree got put up in your apartment, a fake one because hauling a real one up to her place seemed like it would be too much, decorated elaborately in gold and white. You’d get dressed up in a set of Christmas pajamas, one’s that Pierre would scrunch his nose at but he secretly adored, and when he’d make fun of you for it - you’d just pout and call him a grinch.

“I thought I’d wait for you this year,” You mumble, hoping the lighting in your living room would hide the blush on your cheeks, “Speaking of Christmas…”

“I told you three times I don’t want anything,” Pierre reminds you, the argument sprung up twice a year, on Pierre’s birthday and the second the holiday season started. Pierre really had all he could want, his family and his friends were healthy, the team was doing well, and he could buy any material thing he wanted. His answer wasn’t a total lie, because he couldn’t think of anything he wanted besides you.

“You’re the worst,” You whine, throwing yourself back on the couch dramatically, Pierre watched Georgia spring up from next to you, the puppy dropping sloppy kisses all over your face. He thought about what Tex had rambled on about just before he called, that he had to just tell you, but you deserved it to be perfect. So he made a decision, he would tell you by Christmas and he’d spend every moment before that proving to you that he could be the man you deserved.

***

Pierre sighed, stepping back and looking at all of the pine needles that were scattered through his freshly washed BMW. He was going to have to get it cleaned, but the smile on your face would be worth it once he lugged that tree through your apartment building. It was part of his plan, one Tex had called stupid just three hours prior, but Pierre knew it wasn’t. You loved Christmas, and as much as you tried to never show it, you did always get a little bummed out that the tree in your apartment wasn’t real - something that not even the prettiest decorations could fix. So, Pierre decided he was going to fix it, and he was going to give you the best holiday you could ask for.

Pierre buzzed up to your apartment, the tree in his hands while he made his way up to your floor, holding up on his end of the promise he made to stop being a Grinch and help you decorate, “Special delivery.”

The snowman mug, undoubtedly filled with coffee and a tiny bit of sugar because that’s how you always drank it, slipping right out of your hands and onto the floor. The handle snapped off, but that seemed to take second place to the scene in front of you, “Is that-”

“A real tree? Uh yeah,” Pierre nods slowly, trying to not let the grin growing on his face show, “I know you say it’s not a big deal for your tree to be fake but-”

In all of the time you’d known Pierre, you were always his softer side. To the rest of the world, you almost seemed too sweet for the tattooed hockey player who wasn’t afraid to back down from a fight, but it wasn’t entirely true. Pierre had a softer side, one you’d seen shine through when he saw his mom or when a kid could stop him for an autograph, but they were never just random acts of kindness. You wrap your arms around his waist, taking a big sniff of the fresh pine scent that was sweeping through your apartment, “This might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“This is the nicest thing I’ve ever done for someone,” Pierre jokes, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, “Where are we putting this thing?”

Once you had the tree in the stand, it was time to get to work. The real reason you waited for Pierre wasn’t because his lack of holiday cheer was a crime, even though it was, it was because then you could hang up decorations using a ladder. Pierre was keeping the smile on his face, not because he was happy that he had a Santa hat hanging from his head or that he was untangling string lights for you while he wrapped them around the tree, but because you would show him every ornament you had with some sort of story as to why you bought it.

“Do you have a favorite ornament?” You ask, snapping a picture of Pierre’s confused face while he untangled the lights. He looked silly, the hat that you placed on his head was hanging off, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth while he tried to untangle the lights. He looked up at you, and you could see him thinking for a moment before he answered you.

“I do actually, I had this little Canadians skate that I used to steal off the tree to play with as a kid,” Pierre finally settled on, smiling to himself when he could practically see himself at seven trying to steal that ornament off the tree. His mother would scold him, and tell him there’s a million other things to play with but it just wasn’t that stupid plastic skate, “My mom used to get so mad at me for taking it but, I loved it.”

“So you didn’t always hate Christmas?” You tease, a giggle escaping through your lips.

“I don’t hate Christmas, I’m just not obsessed with it,” Pierre defends, “But maybe I liked it more when I was a kid.”

“Well be more like seven year old Luc, and get decorating,” You joke, tossing an ornament at him.

Three hours and two broken decorations later, the tree was propped up in the corner of your living room. It looked perfect, because there was nothing that could stop you from decorating that tree flawlessly, but Pierre was sincerely proud of himself for how much he’d actually helped. You were happy, standing in front of it with the gold star that went on top in your hand, “Well put it on.”

“Shouldn’t you do that?” Pierre asks before you shake your head no and try to hand him the topper. Pierre stays planted in his spot, knowing if he looked at you for just another minute you’d explain yourself.

“I’m too short to get up there and I don’t feel like getting out a ladder-” Pierre scoffed before you could finish your sentence, ducking down and hooking your legs over his shoulders without a second thought. You squeal, latching your hands on any part of him you could to stop yourself from losing your balance, “You could’ve just done it.”

“Hang up the star before I drop you,” Pierre teases, loosening his grip on your thighs like he was going to let you fall. Your laugh filled your apartment, and Pierre knew that had to be his favorite sound in the world. You place the star on top of the tree, Pierre stepping back so you could admire your work.

“Perfect?” You ask, your eyes scanning over the twinkling lights that seemed to just hang from the tree flawlessly. Pierre didn’t look at the tree before he answered, his eyes still trained on you.

“Yeah it’s perfect.”

***

The first snow in Columbus could not have come at a better time. Pierre had an afternoon game, and by the time he’d been out of the arena on his way back to his place, the snow was starting to just cover the ground. You had been at his place all afternoon, baking away pieces for a gingerbread house because you told Pierre buying one was unacceptable. You practically destroyed his kitchen, the counters covered in flour and pieces of gingerbread dough. You had Christmas music blasting over the speaker, lost in your own little world until you heard the door open.

“What happened in here?” Pierre asks, his suit jacket slipping off of his shoulders while he took in the sight in front of him. His kitchen was a mess, the dishes piled high in the sink while the entire place was flooded with the smell of gingerbread, “Did you rob a bakery?”

Pierre picked up the candy that was neatly placed in different cups on the counter. He looked at you with an amused smile on his face, “I didn’t come here to fuck around, and neither did you.”

With your words came a bright green apron for Pierre, he unrolled the fabric taking a deep breath and reminding himself that if he wanted you to know he cared about you, he was going to have to suck it up and build the damn house.

As it turns out, building the damn house was harder than Pierre thought. The cookie kept crumbling, the house kept sliding apart and Pierre couldn’t construct a roof to save his life. You, on the other hand, were working tireless at the most well constructed gingerbread house he’d ever seen. You were lost in your own little world, mouthing along to the Christmas music playing in the background. It would have been cute, and at any other time Pierre probably thought you were downright adorable, but not while another cookie broke in his hands.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Pierre growls, a pout on his face while he swiped the cookie crumbs from his hands.

You laugh at his disgruntled state, his back was hunched and his face was red. It was what he looked like after a bad game, except your friend who prided himself on acting like a tough guy was absolutely defeated by a simple gingerbread house. You drop the pastry bag that was in your hands, “You need to relax.”

“I am relaxed!” Pierre yells, stepping back in frustration, “It’s the house it won’t-”

“Luc, listen to yourself for a minute, it’s not the house’s fault,” You explain gently, you walk behind him and place both of your hands on each of his arms, “Try again and calm down.”

Pierre didn’t want to finish the house, but if your hands were on him he wasn’t going to tell you to take them off anytime soon. Your hands were wrapped around his arms lightly, your chin resting on his back while you peeked around his arm. He grabbed the bag and you rolled your eyes at how tense he was, “Do you hold hockey sticks that tightly, jeez.”

Pierre turns around, giving you a glare and raising his eyebrows. You stifle a laugh, trying your best to keep it together despite how hilarious you found his mood to be, “Quit making fun of me and help me.”

“Okay, okay,” You nod, running your arm along Pierre’s arm while you watched him try and squeeze the frosting out of the bag, “Slower Luc.”

Don’t get a boner. Don’t get a boner. Don’t get a boner.

Pierre’s mind was racing, trying to drive his focus in the direction of the house, and not the fact that you were standing behind him. The air in the kitchen was thick, the same weird sexual tension that seemed to creep up when the two of you were alone for too long was back and stronger than ever. Your fingers ran along Pierre’s tattoos absentmindedly while you whispered simple directions that were turning Pierre’s brain to mush. He couldn’t think of anything else beside the fact that all he wanted was turn around and press his lips to yours, but he couldn’t just do that.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, while your logical side told you that you were simply telling Pierre how to build the silly little house and this shouldn’t feel so sexual - but it did. Pierre touched you all the time, a hand on your back while you guys were out, a kiss on the forehead whenever he hugged you and you never thought anything of it until you realized he didn’t do that with everyone. So you panicked, ignoring the little voice in the back of your head that reminded you that you wanted him, and pretending like it never happened. That wasn’t easy, and every minute you spent with Pierre you could feel yourself falling into him like it was the easiest thing in the world.

The moment was ruined by the sound of a cookie sheet hitting the floor, and the sound of a scared puppy’s feet running away in fear. You both jumped, your hands flying off of Pierre when the realization that you were doing it again washed over you. You were letting yourself pretend like this could lead somewhere and that one day Pierre would choose you and it would all work itself out. Except that was just hope and hope wasn’t going to stop your heart from getting broken.

“You should shower, I’ll start cleaning,” You offer, moving around the kitchen to clean so you could hide the blush on your cheeks.

And a cold shower was probably what Pierre needed.

***

This wasn’t part of my Christmas activities.

You were whining while Pierre drove down to the arena, the Blue Jackets family skate was that afternoon and he insisted you went. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go, but you couldn’t stop yourself from reading into things. He’d never brought you to the skate before, so why now?

“Isn’t this on that silly list of Christmas activities?” Pierre reminds you, tapping your leg lightly with his free hand, “Or do you just not know how to skate or something?”

“Well…” You start, Pierre’s eyebrows raising while he focused on the road ahead of you, “I don’t-”

“You eat Christmas cheer for the entire month of December but you don’t know how to ice skate? When were you going to tell me?” Pierre teases, chuckling while he shook his head at you.

“It never came up!” You defend, crossing your arms at him for teasing you, “And I didn’t tell you for this exact reason.”

Pierre made fun of you for the rest of the ride, teasing you that you should skate with his teammate’s kids who were practically toddlers and were probably better than you were. You walked into the arena behind Pierre, immediately smiling at the familiar faces of his teammates and their families. You made your way to his stall, Pierre telling you to sit he could get your skates laced up. You bit your lip, watching his hands work at the laces as delicately as he could. You were sure he was rougher with his own, but Pierre’s touch was always light as a feather with you.

“Too tight?” Pierre asks, breaking out of your trance from his too big veiny hands.

“No it’s fine,” You squeak out, and you could hear Tex snickering to himself next to you.

Pierre wasn’t a bad teacher for someone who almost tossed a gingerbread house across his apartment just a week prior. He was slow, his fingers laced with yours while he pulled you along and tried to help you skate on your own. It was a failure, and you looked like a baby deer trying to walk for the first time, but Pierre refused to believe you couldn’t get better.

“You guys disgust me,” Tex chirps, hopping onto the bench next to you while you watch Pierre play tag with Savvy’s kids. You raise your eyebrows, waiting for an explanation, “You’re both so disgustingly in love with each other why won’t you just admit it?”

“Because Pierre’s going to find someone else who won’t be me,” You sigh, picking at your nails. You told Tex this once before, when you were wine drunk and sad about the date Pierre was on, “He’s just my friend.”

Tex wanted to scream, lock you both into a room and force you to talk about your feelings. He wasn’t going to do that, because he didn’t want to be the demise of what he thought might actually be something, but god did he want to. You both were frustrating the hell out of him, and if Pierre didn’t nut up soon he was going to take matters into his own hands by New Years.

“You don’t know that, if you told him-” Tex tries his hardest to reason with you, make you see that it’s worth the jump because Pierre was on the other side waiting for you.

“So he can flat out reject me and never speak to me again? Really I’m good,” You huff out, swinging your leg over the boards to get back onto the ice. You were doing okay, until you started to push yourself forward. Two steps later, you were on your way to face plant into the ice until you felt two arms wrap around your waist.

“Easy there,” Pierre laughs, stopping you just before you fell, “You’re not an expert now.”

“You’re such a bully,” You tease, avoiding Tex’s gaze when Pierre intertwined your fingers to pull you across the ice. Tex watched you both, the shared laughs and longing stares were just proof to him that if people did have one person for them, you were it for each other.

Only if you could get it through your heads.

***

The Savard’s threw a bigger Christmas party than you’d ever seen before in your life. You loved David and his wife, given Pierre introduced you to them as his adoptive parents the first time you ever came over for dinner with him. It was your favorite version of Pierre, the one who let David’s kids paint his nails and color the black and white ink on his arms. You walked up the well decorated driveway, your heels clicking against the pavement while you made your way inside.

“You need to go see your boy in the kitchen,” You hear Seth call over to you, grabbing your attention as soon as you walk into the house. You wave hello first, making your way into the kitchen to see a sight that you were most definitely not expecting.

Pierre was sitting on a candy cane throne, a big Santa hat on his head and equally as red suit to match. He had one of Nick’s kids on his lap, listening to the little boy about the train set he’d been writing to Santa about since Thanksgiving. Your heart grew about four sizes at the sight, you walked over and tapped Pierre on the shoulder, “Can I borrow Santa for a minute?”

“Are you Mrs. Claus?” The question was a simple one, and the two big brown eyes that were looking up at you were the only thing that didn’t stop you from saying yes.

“Mrs. Claus huh?” Pierre teases, pulling you onto his lap while you watched Nick’s son make his way back to his mother.

“I wasn’t about to ruin his Christmas,” You shook your head, running a hand over the white fur on the jacket Pierre was wearing, “How’d you get sucked into this?”

“I was going to say no, but then I knew you’d at least laugh at me,” Pierre admits, a blush creeping up his neck. His hands were wrapped securely around your waist like for a moment he could just pretend like he had you, “Wanna tell the big guy what you want for you Christmas.”

“Hmm, nothing,” You settle on, “And you won’t know until you finally tell me what you want.”

The sound of cheers flooded the kitchen, and when you went to look at what all of the ruckus was about you realized that you were the ruckus. Seth had a shit eating grin on his face while he held the mistletoe above your heads. You knew you were flush, the heat on your cheeks made it clear while Pierre looked like he was a pale as a ghost. He planted a kiss on your cheek, telling Seth to fuck off before you pushed yourself off of him, muttering an excuse about needed to use the bathroom.

You had your palms against the sink while you tried to catch your own breath. This was the reason you never made a move, because you knew it wouldn’t end in some sort of heartbreak. It was clear Pierre didn’t want to kiss you, and that was enough for you to let him go forever. You wiped the tears that were welling up in your eyes, deciding that when you walked out that door Pierre was your friend and your friend only.

“Where are you going?” Pierre caught your arm when you tried to leave the party, the idea of going home for a good cry was far better than a rowdy holiday party. He looked insane, his eyes wild while he panted to catch his breath after he searched the house in a panic for you.

“Home, I’m just not feeling well-” You come up with an excuse fast, hoping the quicker you spoke the quicker you could get out of there.

“Is this about Seth? I’ll kick the shit out of him,” Pierre promises, latching onto anything that would fix your mood.

Your feelings were something Pierre was an expert at, probably because he never seemed to take his eyes off of you. He knew when you were upset just from your body language alone and you were definitely not happy. Was it from Seth trying to force the idea that you should be together or was it that he didn’t kiss you? It had to be the first, because if it was the latter then Pierre fucked up his entire plan to make you see that he loved you.

“No it’s fine, really I just think I should go,” You were begging Pierre not to fight you on this, so he wasn’t going but he was going to be damned if he let you slip through his fingers.

“Stay, Tex and I were about to sing Christmas karaoke,” Pierre offers, dragging out his words, “I’ll let you pick the song.”

Pierre and Tex ended up serenading you with the worst rendition of All I Want For Christmas Is You you’d ever heard. Their dance moves were a crime, and they were definitely the two most tone deaf people you have ever met, but their heart was in the right place. The mistletoe incident was forgotten for the moment, your attention directed at the silly drinking games you were playing with your friends. You sat on the kitchen counter in the Savard’s home, your head leaning on Pierre’s shoulder after you’d taken your fourth shot in the span of an hour. A hangover was definitely on the horizon, but for the time it wasn’t going to kill your buzz.

“I hate when you do that you know?” You poke Pierre’s side, grabbing his attention from the crowd of people in the kitchen.

“Do what?” Pierre asks, a bold hand landing on your thigh.

“Make everything better somehow, it’s pretty fucking annoying Luc,” You tease, taking a look at his face for a moment. Pierre smiled before he answered you, the kind where his teeth would show and you could see his little vampire teeth you loved so much.

“I’ll always make it better Y/N.”

***

You’re coming over right?

Pierre sighs at your question, your voice flooding the speaker in his car while he drove home from his game. It was December 23rd, and he wanted to sneak in a nap before his middle of the night flight to Montreal to see his parents for Christmas. He’d just finished an afternoon game, one where the team lost and Torts lost his mind on them before he shipped them off to Christmas break tired and angry, but he wasn’t going to miss out on seeing you before Christmas. He made a promise to himself he’d tell, come clean once he felt like you knew he loved you. Maybe you did, and if you didn’t you were in for one hell of a surprise.

Pierre took a quick right in the direction of your place, deciding you couldn’t wait any longer. His brain was switched to autopilot and when he opened your apartment door with the key you gave him forever ago, he realized what this was. You were sitting on the couch, a gift box in your hand that was undoubtedly for him and it hit Pierre like a freight train.

He didn’t get you anything.

Pierre could’ve punched himself, calling out every name in the book because he was an idiot. He spent so much time focusing on spending time with you, and going along with all of your silly little Christmas things that he didn’t even realize he forgot to get you a gift at all. Pierre just knew whatever was in that bag was thoughtful and perfect, and he was walking in empty handed.

“Open it!” You exclaim, your excitement couldn’t be contained. Honestly, you were surprised you made it this far without spilling the beans about the gift.

You hand Pierre the box, and he opens it slowly, pulling the top of the box off and gasping at what was inside. The skate ornament was the same as the one he mentioned when you were decorating your tree, the blue and red Canadians logo faded a bit, “Is this…?”

“I called your mom and asked her for it,” You admit sheepishly, a little embarrassed to admit just how often you did talk to Pierre’s parents. He didn’t call often, mostly because he simply would forget, so his mother would start just calling you instead, “I know it’s silly but I thought maybe it’d remind you that the holidays aren’t all bad-”

“I love it, it’s perfect,” Pierre whispers, letting the ornament dangle from his large hand, “I fucked up, I uh, shit, I forgot to get you something.”

You laugh, practically falling to the floor while the giggles take over your body, “Luc, you sucked it up all month for me that’s enough.”

“It’s not, I did all of this so you’d know that I loved you and when I told you it would make sense,” Pierre starts to ramble, pacing around your apartment, “And I couldn’t even be bothered to remember to get you a damn gift.”

“You love me?” You repeat, just to make sure you’d gotten clear what’s been up with him since the start of the month. You felt the shift, the extra acts of kindness that just weren’t normal for him, but you knew if you read into it you might end up disappointed.

“I’m hopelessly in love with you, like one of those romantic Christmas movies you love so much,” Pierre admits, looking at you with the softest eyes you’d ever seen. You stood in front of him, dumbfounded that your best friend just told you he loved you, “Please say something.”

“Do you know what I want for Christmas?” You ask, taking a bold step forward and wrapping your arms around Pierre’s neck, “This year I want you alone.”

Pierre closed the gap between the two of you, and it felt like the entire world had stopped. The bustling city outside didn’t matter, Pierre’s flight in a few hours didn’t matter, and the brutal loss he’d taken hours later was on the backburner. Right now, Pierre’s hands were wrapped around your waist while your lips were pressed against his and he would have rather died than let go of you in that moment.

“So I don’t have to get you a gift right?”

“No you still do, but you can kiss me again first.”

#pierre luc dubois #pierre luc dubois imagine #my writing #nhl imagine #nhl imagines

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tobinheath · 3 years

Text

Leah Williamson and Keira Walsh have shared enough “written in the stars” moments in their 23 years to make them feel that they were fated to be best friends. Since meeting on an England Under-15s camp, their football careers have played out with a striking, almost eerie, similarity. They each play for their childhood clubs — Williamson for Arsenal, Walsh for Manchester City — and have a knack of picking up the same injuries at the same time.

They both received their first senior call-up on the same day in 2017. The 2019 World Cup was their first senior England tournament: they called each other to celebrate even before they called their parents, which resulted in Williamson shrieking “bloody hell — what have we done here?” in tears outside a London branch of Nando’s.

Most memorably, Williamson made her England debut coming on for Walsh, in the final six minutes of a World Cup qualifier against Russia in 2018. “My mum’s just framing my shirt, pestering me for that picture,” Williamson says.

Walsh interrupts, giddily. “I think that’s the only time I’ve actually done a full-teeth smile. I was so buzzing.”

“Yeah,” remembers Williamson, “because I was game faced, and you proper smiled at me and I went…” before jerking her mouth into a tight-lipped, nervous smile, chuckling.

“If it was anyone else,” Walsh picks up, “I’d have been, like: ‘I don’t want to come off’. But as soon as I saw it was Leah, I was buzzing.”

This is life at the top for two of England’s most talented young players: phenomenal success and too many good memories to count.

Today, best friends will turn opponent and they will face each other in the Women’s Super League (WSL) for the first time this season — hosts Manchester City are fourth, four points behind second-placed Arsenal — with Williamson pointing out that in a pre-COVID-19 world, she would have stayed after the match with Walsh’s family in Rochdale, where Walsh’s mother Tracy is “just like my mum”.

Over the hour they spent together on Zoom, they are gloriously good fun: warm, ebullient and habitually careering into laughter. They balance each other out, Walsh says: she is “shy and awkward” — though you would not know it here — and Williamson is the “buffer” in certain situations, and the more “logical” one of the two. Williamson views Walsh as the honest one, sometimes brutally so. “I have to step in sometimes and give it a smile and keep it balanced,” she says. “If I play a game and I’m not actually sure how it went, I would text Keira, because I know I’d get the most honest answer from anybody, even if that means it’s not what I want to hear. I think that is where the respect comes from.”

To track the pair’s football careers has been to often forget how young they are. Walsh made her City debut a few months after her 17th birthday and in November this year, Williamson played her 150th game for Arsenal. It is common for those in women’s football to grow up fast but in conversation, one is reminded of the duo’s gleeful, wonderful youth. There was the time, for instance, they rented electric scooters one afternoon at the World Cup in France to explore with Walsh’s Manchester City team-mate Georgia Stanway. The room-mates — Stanway with Williamson, Walsh with Lucy Bronze — had a group chat titled “The three best friends and Lucy”. Stanway, the youngest England player at the tournament, sped ahead on her scooter and they had to “rein her back in”, Williamson says.

“You were being a bit of a Cautious Claire, weren’t you?” teases Walsh, turning to Williamson, “probably as you should do at a World Cup. I think we were just enjoying being kids, weren’t we? Obviously, we were playing, and the reason we were there was to win, but we have so much free time that we were just enjoying being the younger ones.”

“All the older ones… that’s what they kept saying to us,” says Williamson. “Kaz Carney was like: ‘Make sure you enjoy your time now, because hopefully one day you will be the senior ones and there’ll be a lot more pressure on you. Just have the best time ever, make as many memories as possible. Jill Scott — I mean, she was a bit more wild than we are — said she’s got some of the best memories ever from those early tournaments and she wished she could do it again. I don’t think we wanted to waste a second.”

Do not presume, though, that the pair are anything other than serious competitors. By 20, Walsh had won every domestic title going: the WSL, FA Cup and League Cup. Williamson has won the league once, the FA Cup twice and the League Cup twice, finishing as runner-up in the latter to Walsh’s City in 2019. Walsh, an artful holding midfielder in the mould of Sergio Busquets — she grew up watching clips of him and David Silva with her father — will be among the most important players in the England squad moving forward and Williamson, capped 17 times, is touted as a future England captain.

It has not always been easy, though. An early test came in the form of Williamson’s ankle injury, sustained playing for Arsenal against Walsh’s Blackburn Rovers in the FA Youth Cup final. It was so traumatic Walsh admits there are still occasions she will search for Williamson’s results, see her friend has come off and think, “Please tell me it’s not her ankles again. My mum mentions it to me. She’ll say: ‘Did you see Leah came off?’” She addresses Williamson. “Because I’ve seen you in person do it, I feel like I automatically panic. When I see you at camp two weeks later, you’re like: ‘Maybe I was being a bit soft when I came off — it’s nothing to do with my ankles’. But I know what you’ve been through with them, so it is the first thing I think about.”

Williamson, in her own words, “basically just snapped my ankle and everything in it” after misplanting her foot. Stretcher, gas and air, a wheelchair, a doctor advising her to go straight to hospital. “I’m trying to fight back the tears and she’s nearly crying looking at me as well,” Williamson remembers. She stayed at the game because Arsenal had lost the season prior and she wanted to collect her winner’s medal.

“I think I played most of the game thinking, ‘I just hope she’s OK’,” says Walsh. “The only thing I actually remember from that game — not the goals or anything — was afterwards, I saw Leah on the side in a wheelchair with an Arsenal bobble hat on, having to wheel herself on to get her winner’s medal.”

A few months on from Williamson’s injury, Walsh damaged her ankle ligaments — it was an impact injury, and on her laptop, Williamson has pictures of her and Walsh “in wheelchairs at different times”. Walsh collected her second ankle injury at a training camp in La Manga, by which point Williamson’s ankles had betrayed her again. “We were both sat on the bench laughing because it was just crazy luck that we’d both done it again,” Walsh smiles. “I knew I couldn’t sit there feeling sorry for myself next to you.”

During their separate rehabilitation processes, they maintained the habit of visiting each other as often as they could. Their close friendship meant they were never allowed to share a room on international duty to ensure they didn’t isolate themselves from the rest of the group. Walsh was the class clown and Williamson the captain, meaning that “Leah would always get told off for me. They’d always be like: ‘Leah! You need to tell Keira she needs to be a bit more professional!’”

What it all meant was they had lost time to make up elsewhere. Each Christmas, Walsh would come to London from Rochdale and Williamson’s mother Amanda “would treat us to something from Jack Wills. That was like an annual little thing that we did, because I don’t think that I’d ever heard of Jack Wills, being from the north, until I met all these southerners at camp that used to wear it. I think I actually used to go down to see Amanda more than you, to be honest.”

What did they think of each other when they first met?

“You first,” says Williamson.

“No — you go,” Walsh replies.

“I’m going to big you up here,” Williamson begins. “Keira’s always been… she was always one of the best there, and you always want to be mates with the good ones.”

Walsh returns the favour: “I think I was quite jealous of you when you first came because everyone was like: ‘She’s amazing. I was thinking, I want to be amazing, as well, so I want to be friends with her.”

“That’s good, that we both thought the same thing.”

“There you go, then. That’s why we’re friends.”

“I’d say I’m your fangirl, Keira. I’m your hype man.”

Walsh has always been Williamson’s biggest supporter — “when you scored your first goal for England, I think I was happier for you than I would have been if I’d scored” — but probably has good reason to worry about Williamson calling herself a hype man. Before the World Cup, Williamson visited Cex, the second-hand goods chain, and spent £50 on some DJ decks to master during downtime at the tournament.

“I just looked across the corridor and I was like, ‘What is that noise? I’m sure that’s Leah’s room’,” Walsh recalls. “I opened the door and you had these big headphones on, mixing the decks. I saw Georgia just lying on the bed and I was like, ‘What is going on in here?’ They had the balcony door open and you were like: ‘Wait for the drop. Wait for the drop’. I was like: ‘OK – I’ll wait for the drop. You like your music, you are good with music and you actually might be very good. I trust you’. And the drop just never came.”

Williamson hoots with laughter. “Never came. I thought it would be so much easier than it was. It was so hard.” She shakes her head, jokingly rueful. “Massive flop. Massive flop.”

“I feel like you just try your hand at loads of random stuff,” continues Walsh. “I see you on camp and you’re like: ‘I’m doing the harmonica now’.”

Williamson says she has “found her calling” playing the piano in lockdown, but Walsh is unimpressed. “It’s just you try to give off this cool vibe and I feel like people don’t really know you. It just makes me laugh. What have you got — a lightsaber pen? And Star Wars pyjamas? People would just not think that. When you see the exterior of Leah, you would just think, ‘No – not Star Wars’. She’s done all these photoshoots, she’s dead cool, and then she just whacks out the craziest stuff and just makes me laugh.”

Williamson holds up her hands. “It’s true. I can’t deny it.”

The World Cup was particularly testing for Walsh, for whom fierce social media criticism left her questioning whether she wanted to continue to play football. Walsh has spoken numerous times about the impact on her confidence, but what was it like for Williamson, who did not feature as much as Walsh, to witness? She pauses. “I think it’s hard,” she begins, “because you just feel so powerless when you’re not playing. It’s not even like I can go on the pitch and have a shocker to save her from the criticism,” she laughs. “If I tell Keira she’s great, there’s a slight bit of her that’s… I’m her best mate, so I’m going to try and pick her up as much as possible.

“The main thing, especially from a squad perspective, is that we all know how valuable Keira is to us and how — I’m bigging you up here — she’s the centre of what we’re doing as a team. It just annoys me. I wish I could eradicate all those other people because we, as a team, appreciate her so much. That’s all I ever said to Keira – if anybody was picking a team, you’d be the first name on the teamsheet. But it’s hard to get… like I say, I’m her best mate, so I’m honest with her, but at the same time, she probably needed to hear that a little bit more.”

They didn’t talk about it so much, Walsh says. “Because you weren’t playing, I didn’t want to put that on you because I felt like it would be selfish,” she adds. “I thought, at the time: you know what? We’ll just make the best of it off the pitch, and I think that’s why we had such a good time.” Williamson’s first appearance, from the bench in the round-of-16 match against Cameroon, changed Walsh’s perspective “because I was just so happy for you that I didn’t care what people would say about me at that moment. People could say whatever they wanted because I’ve just played in a World Cup with my best friend. Not many people can say that.”

To be best friends, as professional athletes, is a balancing act: in any other walk of life, they would — could — rage at each other, moan, weep, get angry. As professional footballers, they are wary of distracting the other. “I know what you want to achieve, so my problems taking a back seat is fine with me if I know you’re going on to achieve what you want to achieve,” Walsh tells Williamson.

To Sunday, then, and what will happen when two best friends turn competitors for 90 minutes. Walsh smirks. “I feel like you try and keep a really focused head, and then I’ll just be like…” she cups her hands for a high-pitched whisper and springs up like a Jack in a box. “’Leah!’” Williamson rollicks back with laughter. “Then she’ll turn around and she’ll start laughing, but I do it because I know she’s going to laugh and I know that she’s trying to focus. I feel like I’m a lot more relaxed than you. You’re like, ‘Game face, game head, here we go’, and you just have that annoying friend in the background.”

Stanway is the worst, apparently, to the point where Walsh and Williamson will intervene — Williamson with a stern “we’re not having that today” when Stanway inevitably flattens her early doors. “We always text each other a couple of days, speak to each other earlier on in the week before we play each other,” says Williamson of her and Walsh.

“In the game and stuff, we have our little tiffs, and if I say something and she doesn’t agree with it, we’re both playing for the win, and we both understand that,” Walsh concludes, “but then afterwards, we’re straight over to each other.”

She starts to sign off, but Williamson beats her to it. “See you Sunday,” they chorus, in unison.

#leah williamson #keira walsh #lionesses #arsenal wfc #mcwfc

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your-cryin-fool · 3 years

Text

Married in Vegas

Pairing: Tom Petty x F! Reader

Request: I wish I had copied it down because unfortunately I do not remember it. But I would like to thank @run-down-that-dream for requesting it and for being so understanding that it took me until now to finish it

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: Mentions of Tom smashing his hand while making Southern Accents

Rating: T

Notes: If you enjoyed this please lemme know! Just a like would be fine, but if you can comment or reblog, or even shoot me an ask about it I’d be so grateful! As much as I am writing this because it makes me happy, I also like to know how it’s being received by all of you! Thank you for reading!!

Tags: If anyone would like to be tagged in my fics please let me know :)

Going on tour with Tom and the band wasn't anything new to you, you'd been with them on their previous tours, but this one seemed risky to say the least. It hadn't been long since Tom had recovered from shattering his hand, though you worried that going out on tour right away would mess something up, but when he assured you he would be okay, you believed him.

You sat next to him on the tour bus, he had his arm around you, your head was turned so you could look out the window and watch the dusty horizon, and he idly twirled strands of your hair.

"You okay?" He asked after a noticeable silence grew. "Seem awful quiet."

"Hm?" You turned to look at him, "Sorry I was zoning out a bit. I'm alright, though."

"Just makin' sure," he smiled then kissed your forehead.

"Be nice to get out of this bus though, I need to stretch my legs."

"Shouldn't be too much longer. You wanna take a walk when we get there?"

"Yeah I'd like that."

He moved his hand from off of your shoulder and held yours instead. You smiled and leaned against him, gently stroking his hand with your thumb.

You eyed the thin pink line running down the back of his hand, and as you stared you remembered the circumstances that resulted in that scar. Mike calling you from the hospital telling you not to worry while Tom waited for an x-ray. And of course Tom telling you it wasn't a big deal when you burst into the waiting room looking for him. Then, what you remembered most of all and what you never wanted to see again, the pain in Tom's eyes. Not just pain from the injury, but pain from the doctor telling him that they could fix his hand but he may never play guitar again. Pain he hid behind a smart-ass comment. He didn't accept the possibility, you recalled him saying 'Fuck that' and you knew then that he was determined to prove the doctor wrong, and he did.

"(Y/N)?"

You snapped out of the memory, "Hm?"

"I was wondering if I could ask you something." Tom's voice was quiet, shy. Not a tone you were used to hearing when it wasn't just the two of you.

"What's up?"

Just as he was about to speak, the bus stopped.

He fumbled, almost as if he was counting on the engine to muffle whatever he was going to say.

"Well it's just--"

"C'mon lovebirds, we're here!" Mike beckoned the two of you as the band headed toward the exit.

"Guess I'll ask you later." He sighed, but a smile stayed plastered on his face as he got up from his seat, and helped you up after.

You stumbled slightly as your legs woke up, but Tom just held you tighter to stop you from losing your balance. You smiled at him, then headed toward the exit. When you stepped out you immediately felt the contrast between the nice cool bus to the dry desert heat, but it was only temporary as you headed into the hotel shortly after.

Once you'd checked in, everyone went up to their rooms to rest from the drive. Your mind was preoccupied on what Tom could have possibly wanted to talk to you about on the bus, to a point where you didn't even notice him leave the room.

Was it something bad? Had you done something? No, Tom would have told you then and there if there was something wrong between the two of you. Neither of you really believed in going anywhere angry, so if you'd fight, you'd always be quick to make up. And there was a lot of fighting when he was in recovery.

His frustration with not being able to play anything or do anything, and your inability to help him. To say your tempers and stubbornness would clash was somewhat of an understatement. You knew neither of you meant anything you said, but you still said it, and you both would always apologize as soon as you realized you had said something that hurt the other.

In all the years you had been with Tom, that was probably your most difficult time as a couple, but through patience and understanding, and beyond all things, love, you got past it.

"Hey, you ready?" Tom asked you after he had come back in, once again snapping you out of your thoughts.

You nodded and took his outstretched hand, then once again headed out into the arid city air.

The two of you walked hand-in-hand along the strip, pointing out the fun looking buildings and funny signs and taking pictures in front of them.

It wasn't very often that he could go out while he was on tour, but one good thing about Las Vegas was that everyone there was too preoccupied with sight-seeing to pay attention to who was standing in front of them. It was a nice break.

"So," you began, "What were you going to say on the bus?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, "Oh right, well I…"

You couldn't help but think that he seemed nervous.

"It's just that you mean the world to me, you know that?"

You laughed, "I had a hunch."

After a pause, you continued. "Was that what you wanted to say earlier?"

He shrugged, "It's part of it."

"You gonna tell the rest?"

He laughed, "I might."

The two of you continued walking, and eventually he spoke again.

"What would you say Vegas is pretty known for?"

You looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "I don't know, casinos?"

"Yeah, but anything else?"

"Strip clubs, tourism, cocaine... wedding chapels."

"Right..."

He stopped suddenly and you looked at him. "Is this still about what you were gonna tell me on the bus?"

"Sort of." He pointed up at the sign on the building you stopped in front of.

You looked up to read it, then looked back at him.

"Wait are you-?"

"Do you want to?"

You grabbed his face and kissed his lips. "Let's go."

The two of you walked in and were greeted, not only by someone dressed as Elvis at the end of the aisle, but the rest of the band waiting for you.

"Are you kidding me?" You asked him, "You set this up?"

"Well, I figured we might as well." He grinned.

"And if I said no?"

"Then I'd be pretty embarrassed I guess. Good thing you didn't."

You stood hand in hand at the altar, listening as Elvis spoke to you about what you were agreeing to, and then Tom asked to say a few words.

"(Y/N), you helped me through one of the hardest times in my life. Having to go through surgery and relearning to play, I don’t know if I'd have ever been able to do that on my own. I know I probably wasn't much fun to be around, but you stayed by my side the whole time. Without you, who knows what I would have done, maybe I'd have done what the doctors said and stopped playing. But you believed in me, you've always believed in me. And I wanna return the favour, I promise to be there for you when you need someone by your side," he chuckled quietly, "And even when you say you don't. I know you're strong, but you don't have to do everything alone. I'll always be in your corner, I'll always believe in you, and most of all, I'll always love you."

You were fighting back tears, you thought this was a spur of the moment decision, something brought up just because you were going to be here, but he was speaking like he had it written down long in advance. As you dabbed at your eyes with a tissue, he pulled out a small box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a ring you recognized.

"Wasn't that your mom's ring?"

"She loved you, she would've wanted you to have it." He smiled.

The tears you were fighting back almost came out right then and there. You knew how much his mother meant to him, and you knew how heartbroken he was when she had passed away. So for him to give you a ring with such importance to him meant everything to you.

"But how... Did you plan all of this?"

"The guy dressed as Elvis is a surprise." He shrugged then slid the ring on your finger.

Soon, the two of you said your 'I Do's' and Elvis declared you married.

You kissed Tom and the guys cheered from the audience, and without really having a plan to do so, you'd just married the love of your life.

–––

That evening, you laid in the bed with Tom, tangled up in a cuddle.

"So, we're married," Tom said, a smile growing on his face.

"Apparently." You wiggled your ring finger and smiled.

"Can I talk about it at the show?"

"What, like, tell the whole world now?"

"Not the whole world, just a couple thousand people."

"And the press."

He frowned, "So that's a no?"

"It's a 'not yet', you know my parents, they'd kill me, well they'd kill you, if they found out we got married in Vegas."

"Yeah, I didn't really think of that. My folks would've probably been a little pissed too." He shrugged and his smile returned. "You know what that means, right?"

"What?"

"Means that we have to get married again, just not in Vegas. I'd rather not be killed because I couldn't wait."

"Well, if it spares your life, I guess I can agree to that."

He pulled you close to him, "I'm glad that I'll get to call you my wife, even if no one knows."

"Well, the two of us know, and the boys."

"And Elvis!"

You yawned. "Right, can't forget Elvis."

He kissed your forehead, and smiled at you, "Goodnight, Mrs. Petty."

Just as you were about to drift off to sleep, he spoke up again.

"Can I tell the crowd I proposed?"

You laughed sleepily, "Sure."

#laura writes #tom petty x reader #tom petty fanfic #tom petty #tom petty and the heartbreakers #tom petty & the heartbreakers #tpath #tpath fanfic #tom petty fluff #tom petty and the heartbreakers fanfic

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 4 years

Text

The Sight of You (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer’s disturbing dreams about his childhood bring him back to Las Vegas to face two of his childhood’s greatest enemies: his estranged father and his ex best friend.

AN: it’s a friends to enemies to lovers fic! Set in the episode “Memoriam” 4x07

Content Warnings: usual Criminal Minds stuff, mentions of child death, childhood trauma, descriptions of a dead body. Let me know if I missed anything!

Despite seeing Spencer around Pre-k, Y/N did not trot over to talk to him with their brightly coloured rucksack swinging vigorously and violently behind them. They walked faster instead once their parents had dropped them off. Spencer did his best to catch up to Y/N but lost them around the corner in the sea of students seeking their next class. He was meant to be one of them. Adjusting his glasses as they slipped down his nose, Spencer noted that he needed a new prescription before entering his own class and preparing to focus on a subject he was already well-versed in.

It was lunch time when Spencer finally found Y/N. They were sitting at the furthest end of the table in the canteen. But Y/N cowered away from him, his shoulders drawn up defensively.

“Are you OK, Y/N?” Spencer asked before getting to what was more significant to him: “Do you know when you will be free to play again?”

The next sentence out of Y/N’s mouth stung like a nettle. They stood up, their face contorted in their fit, and they pushed Spencer hard on the shoulders.

“Go away! I can’t look at you! You make me feel sick, you and your family!” They cried.

They went silent when Spencer was laughed at by those who heard what was said. Just grabbed their lunch and moved away, leaving Spencer spellbound in the middle of the canteen, heartbroken and with a new opening for a potential chess partner. Maybe that man they saw last week at the park would be kind enough to join him again.

But there was no replacement for Y/N, who now never said a word when they caught a glimpse of Spencer being bullied – only dithering about on the spot before fleeing the scene moments before a teacher would show up.

Spencer was hurt; that hurt warped into hatred when he was next out with his mother and father. They were at the shopping mall and had just bought Spencer his new glasses. Going down the escalator, he saw Y/N. They were smiling and skipping between their parents, a new pair of shoes shiny on their feet.

The second they spotted the Reids, Y/N ducked behind their parents. Spencer could still see their face: brow furrowed, eyes squinting, hands shaking now that nothing was holding them. Their parents didn’t seem to notice. They kept talking and walking even as Y/N stopped in time with the Reids stepping off the escalator.

Sudden footsteps running away was what dragged the public’s attention to a suddenly absent child.

“Y/N!” The parents called out as they chased after the four-year-old. They were quick past the Reids, not stopping to say ‘hello’.

Spencer kept his eyes trained after Y/N’s fleeing form, right until his mother’s face came into view. Diana looked saddened; she too was staring after the L/Ns. Turned to his father. William was composed but his eyes were turned down and watering.

For making his parents react like that to their mere presence, Spencer despised Y/N.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

The burning hatred from adolescence staled once Spencer reached adulthood. The protective nature that spawned from it for his mother remained.

Which is why, when Diana Reid casually mentioned Y/N when asked about Riley Jenkins, Spencer froze up.

“You remember Y/N?” He said stiffly.

Diana didn’t notice her son’s change in tone, “Of course, you two were opposites but you got on so well. So sad what happened to them.”

The first guess was that she was referring Y/N’s repeated attempts at running away before Reid cut contact with neighbourhood gossip at age fourteen. He didn’t bother with a second attempt to understand what his mother meant.

“I don’t care about Y/N. I want to know if you remember Riley.”

“And I told you: Riley was a boy you made up.”

“No, Mom, he was a real boy who lived in our neighbourhood, and somebody killed him. And, I don't know, I think-- I think that dad might have had something to do with it.”

“He was real?”

“Yes. And...”

“He was on that little league team, too.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

The whole case was surreal - “case” being a very loose term.

When they got into his office, Spencer thought that perhaps things might simmer down a little. Unfortunately, as soon as his father spoke about their history of similarity in appearance, Spencer’s usual comfort of statistics and facts on the elderly and pets failed to conceal his abandonment issues.

William Reid was clearly affected by Spencer’s accusations, calling the idea of fitting the profile thus being Riley’s killer “absurd”. Furthermore, he was confrontational when asked for access to his files and demanded a warrant. Coupled with Lou Jenkins’ absolute certainty that William was not involved in Riley’s murder and Penelope asking him “you sure about this?” concerning invading the aforementioned files, Spencer was very close to snapping.

“I really wish people would stop asking me that.”

Then there was the envelope posted beneath his motel room door. Suspicious timing aside, there was a brand-new suspect basically handed over on a silver platter. One Gary Michaels whom Spencer couldn’t remember him but he couldn’t be sure that he didn’t know him. Uncertainty being the feeling he hated the most.

This man could fit the profile; his previous of exposing himself to a minor was a precursor to molestation. But that wasn’t what Spencer wanted to hear from the shady file slipped to direct his attention away from William.

Garcia reported back about his father’s drives, “No kiddie porn, no membership to illicit websites, no dubious emails, no chat room history.”

“What about his finances?”

Hotch joined the conversation, “We went back ten years. No questionable transactions that we can find.”

Spencer sighed while Emily decided to crack a joke: “Well, he did buy a ticket to see Celine Dion six months ago, but I think we can overlook that.”

“He’s smart. Is it possible he kept things under the table?” Spencer persisted.

“Well, of course,” Hotch answered, “But from what we can tell, Reid, he doesn’t fit the profile.”

“We can tell you other things about him, if you want to know.”

A peace offering on behalf of Emily. Clearly she had improved after her night out and subsequent hangover. Spencer gave the go-ahead and Emily listed her profile:

“He's a workaholic, he actually logs more hours than we do. He makes decent money, but he doesn't spend a lot of it. He has a modest house. He drives a hybrid. He doesn't travel much. He stays away from the casinos. Um, and according to his veterinary bills, he has a very sick cat.”

“He appears to spend most of his free time alone,” Hotch added, “He goes to the movies a lot, and he reads. And from his collection of first editions, it seems his favourite author is-”

Spencer interrupted his boss, “Isaac Asimov, I remember that one.” He pressed his lips together. They were right; William Reid did not fit the profile.

Garcia piped up once more, “He does have one other major interest. On his home computer, he's archived, like, a ka-jillion things on one common subject.”

“What?”

“You, kiddo. He's got, like, everything that's been published online. Every article you've been quoted in, pieces you've written for behavioural science journals, He even has a copy of your dissertation.”

“He's keeping tabs on you,” Rossi said, That's saying something.”

But Spencer smoothly dismissed this attempt to make excuses for his father, “Yeah, he googled me. That makes up for everything. I'm going to get some air.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

After getting said air, Spencer went to the local bar and began playing an computerised poker game. His paying attention was only to distract himself, clear his head with something he knew he could control. And thankfully, a chance interaction with a lady at the bar spawned the inspiration for a sporadic hypnosis session.

Doctor Jan Mohikian allowed them a session. Reminded of the limitations that a four-year old’s memory could provide, not including the bias he already had as a son and a profiler, Spencer lay on the couch. His feet hung over the end so that his head could be comfortable in a pillow. There was no time for self-consciousness with Rossi in the room observing. He closed his eyes and felt his hand be placed upon Doctor Mohikian’s body.

She spoke low and calmingly, “I want you to hold my wrist in your left hand. And if you should feel any fear, I want you to squeeze, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Go back to the night you were just telling me about. You're at home, in your room. You can't sleep because your parents are arguing.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

His eyes were closed still, but the couch shifted into a bed. His bed. A floor below, the faint shouting between his mother and father was heard. There was someone else there too. A child wailing, and it wasn’t him.

Suddenly his father was at his side, touching his arm, saying, “I know you’re awake. Daddy loves you; you know that?”

Spencer didn’t want to be there, and then it was the following morning.

Putting his glasses, the room fell into focus. His mother was there, she didn’t see him because she was too busy looking out the window. Her body language told him that this was not a meltdown, but what she saw was distressing. She’d been crying. As she walked away into the house, she hid her face as if she knew Spencer was watching and she wanted to hide her reaction from him.

Spencer ran to the window the second Diana had left the room.

His father was in the back garden and burning clothes. A bloody shirt, a tiny cardigan, landed on top of the pile already set alight.

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and wake.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

And Spencer was shocked out of the scene, back to the doctor’s couch and gripping her wrist with an iron grip. Rossi was by his side, bringing him back to peace with his voice.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Derek was clearly disturbed that Spencer was very set on his father being a paedophilic murderer as much as he had been that Spencer was taking something that was said after his mother’s fit seriously. He continued however to assist with Rossi in Spencer’s investigation.

As if everything else hadn’t been hard enough, the captain took some time to agree to holding William Reid in custody. Finally, he settled for twenty-four hours. William was as resistant to the questions as he had been upon the initial reunion. All he could say was that he didn’t hurt Riley. Spencer wore him down, getting him to drop the Gary Michaels bomb plus the threat that he “didn’t want to go down that road”.

Garcia’s search of Gary Michaels’ DNA on the databases brought to light that their suspect was dead. Buried across state lines, beat over the head with a pipe or bat, and the body was discovered in 2001.

“Maybe it wasn’t Riley’s blood on the clothes he was burning.” Derek was about to hang up when Garcia began to speak again, a new discovery ready for her team.

“Also, Todd found something in your father’s finances. There was a standing order for a therapist, specifically a child therapist from 1985 to 1995. I thought it was for Spencer, but William left when you were twelve, and these sessions continue irregularly after he left you!”

“Who was the patient?”

“One Y/N L/N. Local to North Vegas, born 1980 to Shelly and Finley L/N.”

Both Rossi and Derek looked away from the phone to Spencer and he knew. He knew he’d have to face another villain from the past – like a knight in one of Y/N’s stories.

“Still alive?”

“Yep, already pulling up an address. There’s a lot of short leases attached to this name. Lucky for you, they keep going back to live with their parents.”

Spencer wasn’t entirely sure that he could handle two bitter reunions in one day.

“We’ll send off the fingerprint while we visit Y/N. They could have been a potential victim of Michaels before he died. They might know something.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It was a normal home in a normal neighbourhood. Spencer had never visited Y/N’s house. Their play-dates were always at the park.

“Hello, Mr L/N,” held up their badges, “I’m Agent Derek Morgan, this is Agent David Rossi and Doctor Spencer Reid. May we come in and ask you some questions?”

“Sure. My wife is uh out at work at the moment,” Finley opened the door wider and stepped aside for the trio to enter, “I’m the house husband as it were.”

Looking about the kitchen, Spencer spied several photos of an adult Y/N but very few of them as a toddler and even less as a teenager.

“You have a child, Mr L/N?” Rossi asked.

“All grown up now, Y/N,” Finley smiled with a nod. Then he squinted at Spencer, “You’re not related to William Reid by chance, are you?”

Masking his bitterness, Spencer said shortly, “He’s my father.”

Finley seemed in awe at the prospect, so Derek redirected the conversation back to the matter at hand, “What was Y/N like as a child?”

Nodding still, like a bobble head, Finley looked weary at the notion, “Troubled. They were very young when they withdrew into themselves. Used to run away from home a lot. I don’t know what happened, but Y/N never told us.” He then jumped to protect his child’s reputation at present, “They’re doing better now, went to therapy and they’re doing very well for themselves.”

“I’m glad to hear.” Rossi replied.

Finley continued his defence of Y/N, “They’re a published author, they write fantasy things for kids and young adults. We’re very proud of them.”

“Did Y/N know Riley Jenkins when they were a child?”

“Riley Jenkins, that’s Lou’s kid who died, right?” Finley sought confirmation and, when he had it, he spoke, “Not personally. I think they might have played at the park once or twice. Before he died, Y/N would play with anyone. But you… you know that.” And Finley gestured to Spencer, much to his disgust.

“Is Y/N in the area?” Spencer asked briskly.

“Well, they’re due for a visit in a few hours. They went on holiday.”

“They still live with you?”

“A month ago, they got a new flat in the city. But they’ve got their own room here, for whenever they need it.”

“May we see it?”

The wallpaper was barely visible beneath exam revision notes, posters of Fresh sheets on the bed and the clear space on the floor were the only tidy things about the place. It was a haven of organised clutter.

A chess set caught Spencer’s eye. It sat upon the windowsill, recently dusted. The pieces were not that of a classic set; each was painted prettily but with enough error to indicate it was a personal touch.

“You and Y/N were close then?” Derek was holding up a photo album. Upon inspection, the photograph the page was open on was of Spencer and Y/N dressed up for Halloween as Doctor Frankenstein and the Monster respectively – accurate to the book of course.

“Yeah, ‘were’,” Spencer turned back to the chess set. He didn’t bother to ask when his friends had figured out he knew Y/N.

Rossi decided to further test the waters, “You think that Y/N could have killed Riley?”

“Of course not. A four-year-old couldn’t kidnap, tie up, rape, and kill a boy their own age. No violent history that indicates they would ever do something like this. Do I think that Y/N knows something about what happened and my father is trying to keep them quiet? Yes.”

Rossi moved beside Spencer, picking up the knight. Except it wasn’t a knight. It was a wizard of some kind in purple robes.

“We’ll stay up here for a bit then go down once Y/N’s inside and settled,” He gestured with the knight to the window. Spencer blanched as he spied a cab at the end of the driveway. The trunk was open and someone was retrieving a suitcase from within.

Y/N appeared around the corner, waving off the cab and turning to the house. Mr L/N appeared on the drive and they met in the middle for a hug. Over Mr L/N’s shoulder, Spencer could see that Y/N had grown into their chubby childhood features. They looked genuinely happy.

He would have to go through with it, but he didn’t have to like it. And he couldn’t go hide in the bathroom like with his father.

The trio plodded down the stairs when the sound of the front door closing was replaced with a joyous gathering in the kitchen. It all changed when Y/N went to take off their jacket and caught sight of the three FBI agents standing in the doorway. Taking out his badge, Rossi led the way.

“Hello, Y/N, I’m Agent David Rossi, this is Agent Derek Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid. We’re looking into the death of Riley Jenkins, and we were hoping to ask you some questions.”

To the naked eye, very little changed about Y/N’s appearance. To the three profilers, there was a visceral reaction: Y/N’s right hand started trembling, the hard swallow, the dropping of their gaze from Spencer to the floor.

“OK,” They said, a great deal quieter than they had been with their father.

Rossi sat next to Y/N at the dinner table. Derek was beside Rossi; Spencer stayed standing. Mr L/N stayed in the kitchen, at Y/N’s request.

“Can you tell us what you remember about Riley?” Rossi began.

“Not very much, I don’t really remember much about school.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Spencer blurted, “Well, I do.”

Derek glanced back at him with a look that just screamed “shut the hell up”. It seemed to cut down Y/N’s resolve, their jaw quivering.

“Sorry, can you give me a moment?” They stood up quick, the chair legs scraping loudly against the floor as they walked just as fast to the kitchen. Through the open door, Rossi, Derek, and Spencer watched Y/N grab a glass from the open dishwasher. The water from the tap hit the bottom of the glass harsh, crashing out like a wave of the ocean hitting a cliff. Y/N didn’t seem to care. Their hand dripped water onto the surface as they chugged back some of the drink before returning to the table with a topped-up glass.

“Are you alright?” Rossi inquired, leaning closer to Y/N.

They answered wearily, “Fine, just feeling woozy.”

“You’re a writer?”

“Yeah, you’re a writer too. My mom reads your stuff before bed.”

“Bit of an odd nightcap,” Rossi said with a little chuckle.

Y/N shared that smile for the briefest of moments, replying “You’re telling me.”

From their pocket, they pulled out some painkillers, popping them back with a slug of water then speaking again. “I remember Riley was smaller than me. Still figuring out coordination, but he liked to play chase. I know he was killed; I didn’t find out how until I looked into it last year.”

“Why did you look into it?” Rossi gently probed.

Y/N rubbed two fingers back and forth across their head as they spoke, “I was back here, I felt sick so I went for a walk in the park, and I just remembered him tripping over while trying to tag me. No one ever told me what happened, just that he had to go away. I wanted to know what happened to him.”

“Are you sick often?” Derek asked suddenly, his voice soft to match Rossi. Spencer grimaced at the treatment Y/N was receiving but said nothing.

“Headaches and stomach aches mostly.”

“You get them whenever you come home?”

“I do. Figured I was allergic to something but never figured out what.”

That would have to be a very quick response, like a dog allergy. And coincidental, seeing as the symptoms didn’t start until they saw Spencer.

“Y/N?” called their father, “Can you come here a moment please?”

“May I?”

“Of course,” said Derek and Y/N was out of the room. Derek pivoted in his chair to include Spencer in his theory, “I think they know something, but they don’t know they know it. I think they repressed this memory like you did, Spencer. We should take him to the therapist, see if we can jog his memory.”

“You can’t be serious,” Spencer covered his face with his hands, dragging them down with irritation.

Derek was persistent though, “Spencer, like it or not, Y/N’s linked to this investigation. Put aside your differences for a moment, please.”

Spencer all but squawked, “Put aside my differences?”

“You have brought a lot of bias to this case. Let us at least pursue this lead.”

“Sorry,” Y/N interrupted Spencer’s retort, sitting back at the table, “He needed someone to get unhook the loft door. Mom usually does it.”

“That’s alright.” Rossi waved a hand dismissively. Once Y/N accepted that, he moved in with Derek’s suggestion, “You know, some people have strong physical reactions to memories, trauma. Maybe you’re not getting sick. You’re rejecting something.”

“Rejecting?” repeated Y/N. There was no doubt in their voice, more cautious curiosity.

Derek nodded, “A memory, repressing it, and your body has linked the physical responses to your home. We think it has something to do with this case, and we’d like to see if we can retrieve any memories you might have. Would you be alright to come with us?”

“Yeah,” said Y/N, though they didn’t sound too certain, “Yeah sure.”

The resigned, too tired look on their face, and Spencer felt a tug in his chest. A longing to see Y/N smile like they had when they first entered the house. He’d rather hate someone who was happy than someone who suffered the same as him.

Leaving the house, Spencer took a deep breath of fresh air.

“Spencer?”

He ignored Y/N’s voice for a moment, but he couldn’t disregard Y/N standing in front of him and speaking again, “Spencer, can we talk please?”

“I’m busy,” He said, already walking off as he pretended to call someone, “Hey Garcia.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“Hold onto my hand, use it as an anchor, and squeeze when you feel fear.” Doctor Mohikian accepted Y/N’s hand on her wrist and their silence nod as they lay back on the same couch Spencer had been just hours before.

“I want you to think back to your childhood, back to when you were five. You’re at the park, your parents are on a bench watching nearby to keep you safe. What do you see?”

“Spencer Reid.”

Derek and Rossi glanced at Spencer, who did not react. They kept quiet so that Y/N could immerse themselves in the hypnosis.

“What’s he doing?” Doctor Mohikian continued.

“Teaching me chess.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Sat on opposite sides of the table, Spencer and Y/N’s eyes were glued to the chess pieces that were neatly organised between them. Spencer was thinking strategy. He could not say the same for his companion Y/N. They reached a hand out and hovered over the pieces before finally selecting their last knight.

Their tongue clicked as Y/N trotted the piece on the spot.

“What’s this one again?”

“The knight,” Spencer recited, “It moves two spaces up, down, left or right, and another step perpendicular to the first direction.”

“Brave creatures riding into battle,” Y/N narrated before continuing their clip-clopping to its new position, “Pawns in the game of war.”

Spencer didn’t understand how they were coming up with this whilst playing. Well, actually, he did. Because Y/N was clearly not playing to win. They were playing for the best possible story.

“Where do you think this story will end?” Y/N asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” said Y/N, pushing back the sleeves of their white cardigan, “Come on, you can tell me, with your magic powers.”

“It’s not magic. It’s logic.”

“That’s magic to me,”

Narrowing his eyes, Spencer decided that he should give his friend the information they sought: “I see checkmate in fifteen moves.”

“See? Magic! The gift of sight!” crowed Y/N, clapping their hands together. The cardigan sleeves fell back in place as they did so. Spencer felt his cheeks heat up; he dropped his head so he could smile in privacy while Y/N began to decide their next move.

“How’s your mommy today?”

Shrugging, Spencer said, “Better than normal. But that means a bad day is around the corner.”

Y/N nodded solemnly. “Do you want another ice cream? I got more birthday money.”

“No thank you.” Spencer moved the piece but was immediately intercepted by Y/N, “You’re getting better.”

“Fank you.”

“You’ll have to wait longer to beat me though.” And he snatched Y/N’s knight away, just as planned and much to Y/N’s dismay.

A new voice from their left spoke, “Hey you’re pretty good.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Y/N’s grip tightened on Doctor Mohikian’s wrist, “Someone’s with us.”

“Who do you see?” Doctor Mohikian asked patiently.

“A man. He’s asking us if he can watch us play, listen to the story.”

“Do you want him to stay?”

“No,” Y/N flinched, “But Spencer keeps talking to him. The man won’t go away.”

“It’s OK, it’s OK, you’re safe, Y/N.”

Y/N flinched again, this time letting out a whimper, “He’s on the floor.”

“Spencer is?”

“No, the man.”

“What’s he doing on the floor?”

“He’s,” Y/N began panting, their face tensing and body jerking, “I can’t get to him. There’s glass in the way and the ground is shaking.”

“Y/N.”

“I can’t look, I’ll be sick! Whenever I see them, sick.”

“OK, you’re going to wake up in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!”

Their eyes snapped open with the click of the fingers and Y/N leapt out of Doctor Mohikian’s couch. Their head aimed over the bin by the door and they retched. Nothing came up but their stomach continued to squeeze up

Spencer fidgeted in his seat, trying his best not to look at Y/N. The choice words of the session, three in particular, wrapped around his head.

“Floor”.

Y/N had seen Gary Michaels inside, somewhere that wasn’t the park.

“Glass”.

A window, Y/N was watching what Gary Michaels was doing.

“Sick”.

“Go away! I can’t look at you! You make me feel sick, you and your family!”

“Them”.

It wasn’t just Michaels in the room alone. They had been a witness to his murder.

Derek’s movement to help Y/N took Spencer out of his analysis. Sweaty, Y/N was led back to the couch, the bin between their legs, head lolling forward. Spencer tried to move beside them for questioning, but Y/N winced and began heaving again. He felt that ache in his chest again. He was causing this and nothing he could do would change that. Not until they both knew what happened to Riley and Y/N got help through it.

“What did you see, Y/N?” Derek asked as he replaced Spencer’s spot beside them.

With watering eyes, Y/N looked at Spencer, “The man we played with, he was on the floor. His head – thank you.” They accepted the water from Doctor Mohikian, gulping some back, “It was smashed in.”

The three agents left the room, Doctor Mohikian following after Y/N left to get some air.

“It’s logical to assume that Y/N tied that sickness, that repulsion because of what they thought they saw your mother be involved with, to you and your family,” Doctor Mohikian evaluated.

Interrupting again, Spencer stammered his way through his analysis, “That’s why they avoided me. They associated me with being ill. It’s probably also why they ran away so much; they had to get away from this horrible feeling they had associated with their home.”

Doctor Mohikian shook her head, “We won’t be able to use this in court, I told you when we started.”

Derek’s phone started to ring. As he answered, Spencer somehow managed to slip away for long enough to find Y/N. They were leaning against the ramp’s railing in front of the practice, their body lifting and slumping with each deep breath they took. Against his better judgement, he moved toward them.

“Y/N? Can I have your number?”

The breathing slowed again.

“I need it to call you with an update on the situation as soon as we get one.”

Without looking up, Y/N pulled out their phone and handed it over to Spencer. He punched his number in a new contact, using this time to gather the courage to maybe say something else. The hurt and pain went beyond him now. Y/N was suffering and had been much longer than he had.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Spencer said quietly, hoping that his didn’t add to the illness, “I hope you feel better soon.”

Their head still down, Y/N croaked, “You too, Spencer.”

“Spencer, get over here! We got a match on a print on Michaels’ body!”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“What makes you think Gary Michaels killed your boy?”

“He admitted it,” Lou Jenkins said, as monotonous as he had been for the last fifteen minutes of the interrogation.

Derek’s quickfire was on Jenkins instantly, “You beat a guy with a baseball bat, he's going to admit to a lot of things. How do you know he was the right guy?”

“I know. He approached another kid in the neighbourhood.”

“And how do you know that?

“I was told by a concerned party.”

“Who? Another parent?”

Jenkins leant back in his chair, “That's all I'm going to say on the subject.”

“Who was it?” Spencer suddenly spoke up.

Caught off guard at his interjection, Jenkins awkwardly parroted himself, “I told you that's all I'm going to say on the sub—"

Reid slammed his hands on the table, getting right up in Lou’s face, “Who was it?”

The door opened, Detective Hyde appeared, “Agent Reid?”

“Do not interfere with this interrogation, detective,” shouted Spencer, “This is not your case anymore!”

Once again, he was cut off. This time, by the arrival of his own mother, Diana, and her admission of guilt: “Spencer, it was me”.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Of all the things this case had brought him, Spencer least expected to be sitting in a room with his mother and father together for the first time in years. To have Diana explain to him how she was involved in a child’s murder was also up there with the unthinkable.

But he stayed quiet and listened to her confession.

The reveal that she had seen Gary Michaels playing chess with him and Y/N, that she and got a feeling that something was wrong before anything had even happened, opened the story. Lou Jenkins’ involvement was next on the menu. Two days after the chess game, he drove Diana to Michaels’ house, disclosed his history of child abuse, and demanded she leave while he went into the house.

Upon reaching the point where she entered the house, Diana struggled with her words. William reached over and took her hand.

She described seeing Lou with the bat, standing over the body, slipping in the pool of blood, finding Y/N standing in the window and their face, their little face as innocent as the white cardigan that covered their shoulders and absorbed the blood from Diana’s hands as she shook their shoulders.

“And the rest... It's all dark after that.”

William continued for her. Diana came home and brought Y/N with her. Eventually he came to understand what had happened and decided that nobody could ever know.

“You were burning her bloody clothes,” Spencer concluded.

His father nodded, “But the knowing, you can't burn that away. It changes everything.”

“You paid for Y/N to go to therapy.”

William didn’t seem surprised that Spencer knew this, going straight into explaining: “They went into a dissociative fugue state after seeing what Lou had done. When Diana brought them home, they were just stiff. I asked them for their home number, to call their parents, but they started screaming and throwing up. We had to take them to the police station.” He mopped his brow with a handkerchief, “They needed help, but their parents couldn’t afford it. And they didn’t know what had happened. I couldn’t drag another person into this, Spencer.”

“Is this why you left?”

“I tried to keep us together, Spencer. I swear to you, but the weight of that knowledge, it was too much.”

“You could have come back. Could have started over.”

“I didn't know how to take care of you anymore. When I lost that confidence, there was no going back. What's done is done.”

“At least now you know the truth,” Diana made an effort to smile at her son

Choking on his words and the overwhelming remorse he felt, Spencer refused to look at his parents any longer, “I was wrong about everything. I'm sorry.”

And William said something that Spencer had been waiting for, for a long time, “I am, too, Spencer.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

All of this was repeated when Spencer walked with Y/N through their old park the following day. Filling the final gaps in the memory would hopefully bring some respite to them both. Or at least maybe something to start the recovery process, easing Y/N’s sickness and Spencer’s pain.

“I’m sorry for my behaviour during this case,” Spencer sniffed, “When you said we made you sick, back when we were four, I thought you had seen my mom during one of her episodes and thought she was a freak, like everyone else.”

That stopped Y/N in their tracks, their hands coming up to cover their mouth, their eyes misty, “Oh Spencer, I’m sorry too, I’m so, so sorry I caused you so much pain.”

Spencer’s hands rushed up as if to create belated damage control, “It’s ok! I hurt you too. I made you sick.”

“That wasn’t your fault though.”

“It wasn’t yours either. We were kids.”

Almost pedantic, stropping, like a child again, Y/N moaned, “It’s all been such a waste. We could have been friends all this time!”

“We can be friends now,” Spencer pushed his hands down into his pockets to stop them flailing about anymore. His sentence was phrased more like a question.

One that Y/N gladly answered, “I would like really that.”

Sitting in the reply for a moment, Spencer followed up on his concerns, “How are you feeling? I mean, are you feeling sick again?”

“A bit, but I can handle it.”

Spencer could not see any changes in their behaviour from the day before. So obviously they were lying about that. But he didn’t protest. The lie meant Y/N wanted to stay with him, which was good - Spencer wanted that too.

They kept walking, only in silence for half a minute before Spencer broke it again, “I read your books last night.”

“Yeah?”

“‘The Siege of the Lost Faiths’ in Rogue’s Mask, that was our first game of chess.”

“It had by far the best narrative,” Y/N dragged their shoe a little on the grass before coming to a stop, “Do you still play?”

“All the time.”

They nodded over to where the old chess tables still stood, “Fancy a game before you go?”

Spencer grinned, “Just promise that this is the only setting where we’ll be on conflicting sides from now on.”

“Promise.”

Brushing the debris from the table, they both took their places opposite each other. From Y/N’s bag was revealed a box, spilling their painted chess pieces across the board. Remembering how they had stood in Y/N’s room, Spencer helped to set up the match. They took their seats opposite one another. Y/N was the green side, Spencer the purple.

Spencer moved first. After a second’s deliberation, Y/n moved their pawn.

“Isn’t there a story with this one?” Spencer said, an implicated teasing in his tone despite his shyness.

With an equally bashful eye roll, Y/N started their new story, “First begins the battle with the royals on both sides sending intrepid messengers to meet and pass along their deeds.”

Spencer took Y/N’s pawn. As he lifted their piece away, he spoke quietly, “One not as intrepid as the other.”

A gasp dropped from Y/N’s smile. He had never joined in the narrative telling before, always too taken up in the match to invest in whatever story they spun.

“He’s not a coward,” They said, still smiling, much to Spencer’s delight, “Prisoner’s dilemma, he just couldn’t trust the other with his life.”

“Did they know each other before this battle?”

“Yes,” Y/N moved a knight across, stealing Spencer’s pawn, “They were brothers who once shared a crib and now they share a grave.”

Throughout the game, Y/N continued the story with Spencer asking questions just to hear them talk more. The maturity of the stories had grown just as Y/N’s voice had. They knuckled their eyes a few times, but they didn’t complain about the headache.

“I know what endings you like,” Spencer moved his rook, “Checkmate in five.”

Y/N didn’t seem to mind that little dig, “This’ll have to be a short story instead then.”

Spencer’s next sentence got away from him, trailing off the closer he got to the end of it, “You could write an anthology series, if we see each other again and play more games.”

Where Spencer’s voice disappeared, Y/N’s returned with invigoration, “That’s not a half bad idea, Spencer.”

The checkmate never came. Y/N diverted the ending into a draw.

“A peace treaty has been forged by the survivors, because too many lives have been lost to justify this violence anymore. If only they realised sooner that no blood had to be shed for peace to rule the lands.” And they smiled at Spencer, clearly chuffed as they leaned back in their chair, “Bit of an upgrade from the horse noises, I’ll say.”

Spencer rotated the purple knight – the illusionist – between his thumb and forefinger, “I liked the horse noises.”

“You should have said during the match! I’d recreate them, for you.”

One by one, the pieces were placed back into their box until the last piece remained in Spencer’s palm: the knight or Soren the Illusionist, distractions and deceptions but he loved the tricks that delighted most of all. Just like Spencer with his magic tricks but a little to the left. The character was always one of Y/N’s favourites. Some solace away from the pain of thinking of who he was based on.

Y/N pushed Spencer’s hand away, closes his fist around it, “Keep him. He was made with you in mind anyway.”

The information sank in and Spencer’s nose wrinkled with the little smile on his face as he cupped the little Illusionist, “I’m Soren?”

Nodding, Y/N confirmed, “You’re Soren.”

“But what about your set though?”

“I can always make and paint another knight,” and Y/N tilted the piece upside down in Spencer’s hand, revealing the signature on the underside, “You and him are the originals, it’s only fair you stay together.”

In a moment of pure instinct and nostalgia, Spencer clicked his tongue as he twisted Soren in time with the noise. Y/N let out a burst of laughter that dragged the air out of Spencer’s chest.

“Hey, do you wanna get dinner tonight?” He said, running out of breath very quickly as a result.

It had a similar effect on Y/N, “I thought you – don’t you have to get back to Virginia?”

“I have time for dinner. For you.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

The bookstore was packed but the breath of the patrons was held as one. All eyes were watching the mini stage where a crouching figure lifted their head up slowly. A jump as the tension broke with the figure leaping up to their feet with a bang.

Y/N pushed up the brim of their cap. Snatching a deep green hoodie from the purple trunk – silver constellations painted on the sides – they swung it over their back before picking up the page where they had left off.

“Nasima looked up at Mason and said, ‘Well that was just unnecessary.’”

A burst of laughter shot through the pre-teens in the front row, spreading to the adolescents sitting further back who had grown up with the author’s other works, finally reaching the adults at the back where Spencer was fiddling with his cane. He adjusted the sleeve of his costume absentmindedly. He was just like everyone else in the room: captivated by how Y/N was so immersed in their reading.

They had just mimed kicking down a door, plus sound effects from their mouth. Swapping back and forth between the two conflicting characters arguing with one another, changing between the hoodie and the cap with every other line of dialogue and taking both off for the role of the narrator, it was certainly a workout.

An exaggerated breath was drawn into Y/N’s lungs, flopping over in a melodramatic state, which caused another laugh in the audience.

Spencer’s nose scrunched up as he grinned. He knew this was part of the scene; he’d seen Y/N rehearse this story in their sitting room. It was so much better to share this with an audience, for their reactions to fuel Y/N’s energy.

Y/N finished the short story A Battle of Bent Truths with a flourish, leaving the rest of the anthology for their audience to read in their own time. The kids were up on their feet first. Some of them were jumping up and down as they applauded with the rest of the shop. Y/N gave a big grin as they bowed, sweeping their cap off for extra drama.

There was a book signing and a photographer that followed, and Spencer waited patiently at the end of the queue, thankful that the store allowed him to bring a chair along with him. He was happy to entertain his godson and friends with a few tricks to pass the time.

“Another one please!” Henry jumped up and down when Spencer revealed his card.

A minor commotion arose by the photographer’s backdrop. There was a teenager was crying; she was clutching her copy of Untold Tales of Human Nature. Y/N was holding their shoulders, rubbing gently and speaking softly. Only half paying attention to his next trick, Spencer kept an eye on Y/N as they hugged the teenager, looking near tears themselves.

“Spencer?” J.J tapped him on the shoulder and Spencer realised that Henry was looking a little mad to have lost his godfather’s attention so easily.

“Sorry, Henry, can you pick another card please?”

When they reached the front of the queue, JJ went up first and took Henry and his pals up to see Y/N. They instantly recognised JJ and welcomed her with a tight hug. Henry was delighted to see his favourite babysitter and show them off to his school friends, boasting that they had read to him before today.

“They read me bits for bedtime, Mommy!”

“I know!” JJ tickled his cheek, “I read them to you too.”

“Who do you like better?”

“Mommy,”

Y/N gasped, dropping to their knees which made Spencer wince, “Henry, you wound me!”

Rossi approach next, knowing that once Spencer got to Y/N, they would not be left alone.

“You really know how to captivate an audience,” He kissed them on both cheeks, “Though don’t take offence if I don’t use the same tricks at my readings.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it! Thank you for coming.”

Y/N then caught Spencer’s eye and began meandering over to him with a smile they were desperately trying to stifle. Spencer rose from his chair, meeting Y/N in the middle.

“Hi, Spencer.”

With his free arm, Spencer flaunted his cloak, “Who is Spencer? I’m Soren the Illusionist!”

Giggles from his godson, his godson’s gang, his co-workers and friends, they almost caused Y/N to lose their composure. They held on just long enough to continue the banter.

“Oh, forgive me, you look so much like my boyfriend.”

“Hmmm, he must be very handsome,”

And Y/N burst into peals of laughter, waving their hands about, “OK, stop, stop, stop, I can’t.”

“Hey!” Spencer pretended to take offence, pouting as Y/N brought him into a hug.

“Don’t worry,” They kissed his cheek between giggles, “You are so very handsome.”

“To think you were once sick at the sight of me.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #my writing #r: gender neutral #wc: 5k+

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be11atrixthestrange · 3 years

Text

Waking Up In Vegas Chapter 15

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M.

Ao3 | FFN

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*Six Weeks Later*

[Ron]

The flat is small but well-arranged. Bookshelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, maximizing the vertical space that only one of its residents can fully use. The kitchen is sparkling clean, save for two empty red wine-stained glasses in the sink. Usually, the dishes would be washed and stacked away before the clock strikes bedtime, but last night other, more fun activities got in the way.

The apartment's decor is simple — it has to balance the strikingly orange accent wall behind the television. The only other thing commanding attention is the large painting of a cityscape hanging on the wall across from the entry. It's an artistic rendering of a well-known skyline, characterized by neon lights, a replica of the Eiffel Tower, and a series of flashy hotels. Although the portrait might be recognizable to many, it's meaningful to only a few.

As the morning light peeks through the windows, the bedroom's blinds give up on filtering it out. The sun casts a ray across the pillows, illuminating the two sleeping figures entangled together in bed. Gentle and mild, the light is easier to ignore than an intense desert beam, and it takes a few moments for the tall, red-haired man to open his eyes.

When he does, he turns onto his side to bury his face into his pillow. The bed is warm and comfortable — the satin sheets were a worthwhile investment. Same for the pillow, which somehow maintains the perfect combination of cold and cozy. Ever since they bought a new, albeit expensive mattress, his back problems have become a thing of the past.

He smiles at the mountain of fluffy blankets beside him, topped with spirals of bushy brown locks. There's so much goddamn hair. It looks like a plush volcano of cushions is erupting with curly brown hair. He can't decide what he loves more: the explosion of brunette, the bright orange Chudley Cannons t-shirt, the black mens' boxers that have a little too much fabric for a woman, or the person it all belongs to.

Well, technically, the Cannons t-shirt and boxers are his, or at least, were his. But marriage is about sharing.

"Morning, wifey."

Hermione groans and covers her face with a pillow. "Too early."

Ron slips an arm around his wife, encouraging her to turn toward him. She obliges and snuggles up into the crook of his arm, where she fits perfectly. He presses a kiss to her forehead and nuzzles his head into her hair.

It would be easy to stay like this forever, ignoring real-life responsibilities. In a way, their bed has become an escape from reality, an oasis built upon the lessons they learned in Las Vegas. Defined by frequent 'I love you's, reprieves from work, and late-night explorations fueled by a glass of wine and the need to destress, it's the place that keeps them anchored to the magic. Who wouldn't want to stay forever?

But alas, they can't, as they have Maid of Honor and Best Man duties to attend to. Today is Harry and Ginny's wedding, and within a few hours, they need to transition from the carefree vacationers they became in Vegas to the highly organized planners helping to orchestrate the festivities.

Ron groans. Although their friends know they're together — they put on quite a show back in Las Vegas, after all — they haven't revealed the extent of their relationship, and the worst part about being in public together is pretending that Hermione's just his girlfriend.

"We should just tell everyone," murmurs Ron into Hermione's hair.

She chuckles and snuggles closer. "After the wedding. Let's not steal their thunder."

Steal their thunder. To be honest, Ron has frequently fantasized about stealing Harry and Ginny's thunder. A small part of him is jealous of their hen and stag weekend in Las Vegas and their elaborate wedding. Ron wants everyone to celebrate him and Hermione, and as time passes, he grows more desperate for them all to know.

"I want to steal their thunder."

"I know." Hermione gently pushes him over on his back and slides on top of him. The movement is swift and natural, and as always, she fits like a glove.

"Hmmm, hi," he says right before their lips meet. The kiss lingers; Hermione's teeth lightly latch to his bottom lip, driving him wild. Without breaking their kiss, Hermione shifts some of her weight onto her hips. She knows exactly what she's doing, and if Ron doesn't stop this train, they'll be late.

"Er-my-nee," he groans, pulling away. She pouts at him with her wide chocolate brown eyes, and it's all he can do to resist tangling himself back up in her arms. "Can I ask you a question?"

"What?"

"Do you wish we had more thunder?"

Hermione brushes a tuft of hair from Ron's forehead. "Sometimes. But I still wouldn't change a thing."

Ron smiles as she leans down for another kiss. Her fingers thread into her wild curls, prompting him to flip her over and land on top. He groans when she wraps her legs around his waist.

"You know we don't have time for this," he says between kisses. "We should get rea—"

"Shhhhh." She pulls him into her embrace and tightens her leg lock around his hips. "There's always time."

"Hey!" he teases, then leaning down toward her ear to whisper, "I take offense to that."

Ron doesn't give her time to respond before connecting his mouth to hers for another kiss. He can smell his cologne from the night before on her skin, yet it still tastes like Hermione when his lips travel from her mouth to the nape of her neck. A soft moan escapes her lips and sends him into a tizzy that leaves nothing else to do but get lost in her.

Six weeks in, and he's still convinced he'll never get sick of snogging Hermione Granger.

Plus, she's right — there's always time.

Harry and Ginny's wedding is just as elaborate as their weekend of partying in Las Vegas, but of course, classy. The venue is a converted warehouse, which initially horrified Molly, Ron and Ginny's mum, but it's unrecognizable after a few hours of decorating. They tie the knot underneath a trellis of climbing vines and twinkling lights illuminating the exposed brick wall behind them. Cafe lights drape from the ceiling beams, filtering the room's color just enough that everyone appears to glow. Each row of seats is marked by a simple bouquet and a periwinkle ribbon that matches the color of the bridesmaids' dresses, and the aisle appears to have been assaulted by flower petals, courtesy of Victoire, Ron and Ginny's niece, who recently discovered the true strength of her throwing arm.

Ginny has insisted that she and Harry walk down the aisle together as equals. Although originally disgruntled at the pushback on tradition, their father, Arthur, chokes up when he watches the pair approach the altar. Ginny's eyes sparkle with rare tears, and Harry can't keep his gaze off her radiant smile.

They're a couple in love, and there's not a doubt in the room.

Ginny's dress is simple — Hermione had said something about satin, but Ron doesn't remember the details. It's one of those dresses that doesn't dare pull focus from the woman wearing it, not that any dress could. Ron's always resented the Weasleys' fiery red hair and the way it sticks out like a sore thumb, but Ginny makes him think that maybe it isn't so bad after all.

While everyone watches the couple, Ron chances a glance at Hermione across the altar. He can hardly stand seeing her in her periwinkle bridesmaid dress, and he hopes to heaven his gawking isn't too noticeable. When he shifts his eyes in her direction, she turns her head back toward the bride and groom.

She was checking him out, too.

He doesn't have to keep his eyes on her for his imagination to run wild. That periwinkle dress turns white, and suddenly it's Hermione walking down the aisle. Her hair is tucked up into a spiral on top of her head, a few wisps escaping to frame her face.

Since it's his sister's wedding, Ron forces the image out of his mind, but he can't stop a wistful smile from forming on his lips and staying there throughout the ceremony.

When Harry and Ginny arrive at the altar, the music slows to a stop, and the officiant steps out from behind a curtain.

"Well, hello, folks!" says the blonde-haired man in a thick, mumbling American accent.

The wedding guests stare in silence at the man, who's dressed in white from head to toe, a greasy black wig barely covering his blonde locks.

Harry and Ginny burst into laughter, which breaks the seal for everyone else to follow suit.

"Yes! You got an Elvis impersonator!" shouts Fred, Ron and Ginny's brother, from the front row. "Someone check Mum's pulse."

With that, Ron snaps his head toward his mum, whose face has collapsed into her hands. Her body is heaving with what can only be sobs, or…

Laughter. Ron grins when he realizes that his mother's laughing hysterically.

At Molly's outburst, the tension and stuffiness of a formal event dissipate, and the ceremony continues flawlessly, having now been marked by Harry and Ginny's personalities. Elvis speaks to their bond, and even though he doesn't know the couple, he manages to capture how they approach life, always wearing their hearts on their sleeves and marching to their own beat. They've written heartfelt but humorous vows, expertly eliciting laughs and tears from their guests while they read them with shaky hands. They share their first kiss as a married couple to a round of applause and a standing ovation. Emboldened by the support, Harry picks up Ginny and drapes her over his shoulder as he skips back down the aisle to a chorus of cheers and whistles.

The wedding party follows the happy couple back down the aisle, starting with Ron and Hermione. They link arms and lock eyes, sharing a small, knowing smile. Ron wonders if she's also imagining the roles reversed, everyone clapping and celebrating for them as they traipse down the aisle after tying the knot.

What would the pseudo-Elvis have said about them if this were their ceremony, not Harry and Ginny's? Would he have spoken to how they disliked each other when they first met, and the utter disbelief they felt when they woke up next to one another in bed? Maybe he'd have talked about their strong determination to get a divorce and straighten everything out, followed by the looming 'what ifs' that kept knocking. What if they gave it a chance? What if they opened their hearts and it worked out? What if it was meant to be?

Maybe Elvis would have told a white lie at their request, saving their families the heartache of learning that they missed the original wedding, even though Ron and Hermione kind of missed it too.

That would be best wouldn't it? They could hire an Elvis to spin a new love story for their family, so they could keep the real one to themselves—not due to shame, but the simple fact that it's theirs.

Ron can't help but wonder.

Rather than a formal sit-down dinner, the ceremony transitions straight into a party. The delicate set-up of chairs and flowers clears into a dance floor. The doors to the warehouse open to an outdoor deck complete with a buffet and a dessert table, and a crowd forms at the bar.

Tugged away by Ginny, Hermione disappears into the crowd, and Ron becomes absorbed by friends and relatives. He'd rather stick with Hermione, but before he can locate her again, he's trapped in a conversation with long-lost family members. Old cousin Barny, Auntie Muriel and her flavor of the week — a scruffy looking man who introduces himself as Argus, and a neighbor who used to babysit when he was a toddler — he smiles through it all.

"Anyone special in your life, Ron?"

"I noticed the way you were looking at the brunette."

"Is it serious?"

"Should we be marking our calendars for another wedding?"

He deflects the expected questions — the ones that could draw attention away from the happy couple — with suggestive 'maybes' and 'we'll sees' although the truth, or at least a version of the truth, is evident on his face.

Yes, there is someone special. Yes, he was probably gawking at the beautiful brunette. Yes, it's serious enough that they live together.

"You're living together before you're married?" Auntie Muriel chimes in her most dismissive, judgemental tone.

Ron gives her a guilty look, a 'we're already married, you just don't know,' but to her, it's an admission of living together in sin.

"Well, I hope for your sake, she's the one."

"She definitely is," he says, nodding in a way he hopes ends the conversation.

Ron eventually negotiates an escape from small talk and heads to the bar for a slight reprieve. He slides into a seat and accepts a generous glass of champagne from the bartender. One sip reveals just how thirsty he is, and he lets out a satisfied sigh of relief before indulging in the rest of his glass.

"Another?" asks the bartender once he finishes.

"Erm, sure. Thanks."

While the bartender refills his glass, Ron takes a quick scan of the room. He's looking for Hermione, but she's nowhere to be found. His search doesn't last long as a certain someone slides into the barstool next to him and interrupts.

"Thank you for being here," says the dark-haired man beside him. "It means a lot."

"Ugh, not you," groans Ron, but his tone is laden with a touch of sarcasm only his best friend can decipher. "Should I say congratulations?"

"Yes, please," grins Harry. "Even though you've said it a million times."

"Well, you should soak it up because tomorrow, I'm done congratulating you," he says. "So needy."

"Cheers to you too," says Harry, clanking his champagne glass against Ron's.

"I've been meaning to ask you," says Ron, remembering Harry and Ginny's elaborate ceremony. "Why Elvis?"

Harry laughs. "Oh, Ludo? We met him at one of the casinos in Vegas."

"And you just asked him to officiate your wedding?"

"Well, he offered, and we didn't have anyone else," shrugged Harry. "To be honest, we were kind of drunk when we agreed, but Ginny wanted to bring some of Las Vegas into the wedding, so it worked out."

"Well, I liked him. I thought it was brilliant."

"I agree," grinned Harry. "So, will I get to congratulate you anytime soon?"

"Congratulate me for what?"

Harry rolls his eyes, aware that Ron is playing dumb. "Do you think you and Hermione will ever get married?"

"What makes you ask that?" Ron looks over at his best friend, and his expression that's full of excitement. Part of Ron loves that he and Hermione are the only people who know about their marriage. Another part of Ron just wishes he could share it all with his best friend. It doesn't feel right keeping him in the dark.

"You live together and seem pretty happy," continues Harry, oblivious to Ron's internal debate. "I'll admit, at first, I thought you two were moving fast, but you seem well suited for each other."

"After Hermione, you'll be the second person to know," says Ron, grinning at his friend.

"I'll take it!" says Harry. "Can I give you one piece of advice?"

"Sure, mate." Ron can't help but smirk — Harry's been married for barely two hours and is already touting marriage advice. Typical.

"If you know she's the one, don't overthink it. You'll just waste time."

Ron laughs softly. "I don't think that will be an issue for me."

"Good. I'm going to find my wife," says Harry, emphasizing the word like he's trying it on for size. "And you should go dance with your girlfriend. She looks like she could use a hand."

Harry motions across the room to where Hermione and Luna are alone at a cocktail table. There she is. Hermione's stiff body language is a stark contrast to Luna's eccentric gestures, and it appears that Hermione has become an unwilling audience for one of Luna's wild conspiracy theories.

"Happily," mutters Ron as Harry saunters off to find Ginny.

Ron meanders across the room to rescue Hermione from Luna's verbal clutches. Since she doesn't see him approach, he decides to surprise her by sneaking up behind her and looping his arms around her waist.

"Hi, girlfriend," he whispers into her ear.

"Hmmm." She seems to melt into his touch ."Hi, boyfriend."

"Sorry, Luna," says Ron, as he slides a hand down Hermione's arm and interlaces his fingers with hers. "I'm going to steal Hermione away for a dance."

"Of course! Have fun, you two," Luna says before turning around toward the crowd and skipping away, presumably in search of another unsuspecting guest to engage with.

"She's a lot, isn't she?" asks Ron.

"She's not too bad, once you get to know her. She's just talkative, that's all."

Ron tugs Hermione toward the dance floor where a smattering of couples intertwine, swaying to one of the rare slow songs in the D.J.'s repertoire. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he tightens his embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"It's a little weird to call you my girlfriend."

"It sounds wrong," she says, her voice muffled by his dress shirt. "I was never your girlfriend. It's probably how people feel when they first start saying 'wife' or 'husband.'"

"I reckon you're right."

Ron reflects on the first time he called Hermione "wifey." It didn't feel weird at all, probably because it was a joke. Eventually, the joke just turned real.

"Hubby suits you better, anyway," says Hermione. She always seems to know what he's thinking, but he doesn't mind one bit.

"I agree, love." Even now, Hermione can still make his cheeks tinge red with a simple statement. "Are you enjoying the wedding?"

He can feel her nodding against his chest. "Yeah," she mumbles. "Although, it was a lot of work. Are you?"

Ron shrugs. "Ours was better, I think."

Hermione laughs. "I'm sure it was. Too bad we can't remember it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron can see Harry and Ginny embracing on the dance floor, surrounded by his grinning family. A spotlight shines on them, and at the sound of clinking glasses, they lock eyes and share a kiss. When they make contact, the bystanders whoop and whistle. "Maybe they should have gotten hitched in Vegas like us. This is a lot of commotion."

"Well, you know Harry and Ginny," says Hermione as she loosens her embrace to glance over at the couple. "They like their parties."

"They do," he says, tugging Hermione back into his arms. "What would you have done if this was your wedding?"

Ron expects Hermione to take some time for her answer, but surprisingly, she has one at the ready. "It would have been smaller. Maybe a live band instead of a D.J. And red velvet cake."

Ron smiles into her hair as she continues.

"I probably wouldn't have had a huge wedding party. Probably just a maid of honor. Intimate rooftop ceremony. I'd write my own vows. I even have photos of my dream dress."

Ron chuckles. "You have it all planned out."

"I never really planned it, I just knew." She's smiling when she pulls away and meets his eye, but her smile fades into a frown. "But seriously, I wouldn't change a thing."

She must have interpreted his pensive look as disappointment. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Let's plan it."

"Plan what?"

"Our rooftop wedding," he says as the color pink creeps up his neck.

"Ron, we're already married." Despite her deadpan tone, there's a twinkle in her eye and a soft smirk hiding behind her lips.

"Then let's get married again."

She narrows her eyes at him, and Ron can almost see the gears turning inside her head. "You don't think that would be a waste of time and money?"

"No. Not at all. Plus, I couldn't stop picturing you walking down the aisle today, and I'd love to see you in your dream dress."

She leans back and stares at him for a few moments, clearly running questions through her mind. When she finally speaks, her eyes are glassy with held-back tears, and a smile lifts her words. "You're serious?"

"Hermione Granger," he states in his most serious tone. "Will you marry me again?"

Their feet stop moving, and she bores her gaze into his. Her answer is swimming in her eyes, but he waits for her to verbalize it. "Of course I will. I'd marry you every day."

Ron barely has time to smile before she's pressing her lips against his. He responds so enthusiastically that it could very well be their first or thousandth kiss, lifting her gently off her feet. They're probably drawing attention to themselves, but Ron doesn't mind. It's like she's the only person in the room.

That seems to happen a lot.

Ron sets her back down and slides his hands down her arms, landing at her unadorned fingers. He rubs a thumb across her left hand, desperately wishing he had brought the ring. He didn't think to bring it to the wedding.

The ring — a modest emerald-cut solitaire in yellow gold, is still safely stashed in his bedside drawer, hidden by a few football magazines. He had a whole plan that didn't include a quiet proposal at someone else's wedding, but sometimes the best things in life are accidents.

"I have a ring, you know."

"You do?" she asks, her eyebrows raised. "You planned this?"

Ron laughs. "Well, sort of. But I wasn't planning on asking you tonight. Didn't want to steal anyone's thunder."

"When were you going to ask?"

He had it all planned out. A surprise candlelight dinner at their flat. A homemade cocktail — his best attempt at Liquid Luck. Slow-dancing in a dimly lit living room, furniture pushed against the wall to make room. Dropping to one knee in the middle of a dance. Strawberries and whipped cream. It would have been perfect.

But this is perfect too.

"I was going to propose six months in. Since that's when you can finally divorce me if you want to—"

"Right. Divorce," she scoffs. "When did you buy the ring?"

Ron averts his gaze when he answers. He hasn't planned on telling her this part. "In Las Vegas."

"That early?" she asks, her tone suspicious.

He nods.

"You knew you wanted to stay with me?"

"Of course, I did. Didn't you know, too?"

She smiles and answers him with another kiss. This time it's slow and loving, taking its time. Their bodies seem to melt together into one.

"That would have been so sweet," she says when they eventually break free.

"We can stick to the original plan if you'd prefer that—"

"No!" Her eyes widen as if she's afraid he'll take it back. "When have we ever followed plans?"

Ron grins. There it is — that spontaneous Hermione that only he gets to see. "And you were worried 'Vegas Hermione' would disappear completely," he says, tucking a hair behind her ear.

"I guess she's here to stay," says Hermione as she nestles her head into the crook of Ron's neck where it fits so perfectly. "I love you so much, Ron."

"I love you more, fiance."

Ron can't help but wince at her new title. 'Fiance' sounds just as odd as 'girlfriend,' and it'll only be true for a small fraction of their lives together — not enough time to get used to it.

"I still like 'wifey' better," she says as though reading his mind.

He does too. "Then I guess we have another wedding to plan."

"I guess we do," she says. "And what about our real wedding? Do you want to tell people?"

"Should we?"

"No," she says before securing her arms around his neck. "That wedding can stay ours."

Ron smiles as his lips meet hers. The desire for everyone to know is still there, but less so. They'll get to celebrate a 'real' wedding together, their guests blissfully ignorant of Ron and Hermione's little secret. It's a perfect plan, really.

Someday they might reveal the truth. They might let it slip in conversation, or accidentally admit it to Harry and Ginny after a few cocktails, or decide to tell their future children.

But until then, their original wedding can just be theirs.

*THE END*

#be11a_vegas #Ron Weasley #ronweasley #Hermione Granger #hermionegranger #Ron and Hermione #ron x hermione #ROMIONE #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #romionecom #hpromione #muggle AU

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bechloeislegit · 3 years

Text

25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020

Day 24 - A Special Gift (for a Special Someone)

Prompt from Tumblr User rejection-isn't-failure: The full prompt can be found at the end.

A/N: I know it's not quite what you asked for, but I hope you like what I did with it.

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Beca entered the Bellas House to find she was the first to arrive. She took her suitcases up to her room and dug through the pockets of the larger one. She found what she was looking for and carried it with her down to the kitchen to get something to drink. She knows Jessica spent the summer at Barden, so there would be drinks and snacks.

Beca entered the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator. She set the water and the small box she was carrying on the island in the middle of the kitchen. She looked around and thought about how she was starting her Junior Year of Barden because this was definitely not something Beca thought she would be doing. Her original plans were to put in one year and then move to LA to get into the music business. But here she was, yet again, returning to Barden as a Junior.

Beca would like to say she stayed to continue her education, but she'd be lying. As soon as she knew Chloe had failed Russian Lit and would be back at Barden for Beca's Sophomore Year, Beca changed her plans. And now that Chloe was entering her third Senior Year, Beca was back as well. At this rate, Beca would surely be graduating the following year (maybe with Chloe; fingers crossed).

Beca missed the girls, especially Chloe. She broke up with Jesse over the summer because she knew it wasn't fair to him to lead him on and pretend that she loved him when her heart belonged to someone else. Besides, she rationalized, they always were better as friends than they were as a couple. She knows breaking up was the right thing to do, and they did have a sort of good friend relationship. They would be much better friends if Jesse would accept the breakup and stop trying to win her back.

Beca opened her water and took a drink. She set the bottle back down on the counter and picked up the small box, and took out the necklace that was inside. She stood looking down at the necklace that had been in her family since her great-grandfather had given it to her great-grandmother on their wedding day. It was an antique and probably worth a lot of money, but it was sentimentally worth so much more. She hopes Chloe will like it. All she has to do is figure out how to give it to Chloe and tell her about the feelings Beca has for her. Feelings that are more than friend feelings. Feelings that she has never felt so strongly for anyone else, not even her ex-boyfriend, Jesse.

Beca was in love with Chloe and decided Christmas was a great time to tell Chloe and give her the necklace.

~ Day 24 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~

Beca was startled when Jessica came into the kitchen.

"What'cha got there, Beca?" Jessica asked, looking at the necklace in Beca's hand.

"It's nothing," Beca said.

"Doesn't look like nothing," Jessica said, looking a bit more closely. "It's beautiful. Where did you get it from?"

"My mom gave it to me," Beca said. "It was originally my great-grandmother's. My great-grandfather gave it to her on their wedding day. She gave it to my grandmother when she turned eighteen, and she gave it to my mother when she turned eighteen. My mom was in Europe when I turned eighteen, so she waited until I was able to see her. She gave it to me over the summer."

"That's so sweet," Jessica said. "I wish my mom had something of my grandmother's to give to me. It would be like she was with me every time I'd wear it."

"I'm supposed to save it and give it to my first daughter when she turns eighteen," Beca said. "But, I have other plans for it. Besides, this is something that should be worn and shown off, but it's not really something I'd wear."

"Then, why did you take it?" Jessica asked. "Couldn't you have left it with your mother?"

"Um, yeah, I guess," Beca said.

"But?" Jessica prodded.

"But what?" Beca countered.

"It sounded like you had something else to say," Jessica said, shrugging her shoulders.

Beca looked around until her gaze landed back on Jessica.

"Okay," Beca said. "Swear you won't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you. Do you swear?"

"I have no idea what I'm swearing to," Jessica said, chuckling lightly. "But, I swear I won't tell a soul whatever it is you're about to tell me."

"Good," Beca said, chewing her bottom lip. "Okay, so like I broke up with Jesse over the summer."

"What? Why?"

"I realized I didn't love him like he deserved. I'm in love with someone else."

"You mean, Chloe, right?"

"Yes," Beca said, eyes widening in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"Just a hunch," Jessica said. "I mean, we've all seen how you two are around each other. It was just a matter of time before you two got together."

Beca was slack-jawed. She opened her mouth to say something but snapped it shut when she heard the front door open and Chloe's voice.

"Hello?" Chloe called from the front of the house. "Jessica, are you here?"

"I'm in the kitchen with Beca," Jessica yelled to Chloe.

"Beca's already here?" Chloe cried as she could be heard running toward the kitchen.

Beca quickly shoved the necklace into her pocket, smiling when she saw Chloe enter the kitchen.

"Hey, Chlo," Beca said.

Chloe slammed into Beca for a hug and nearly took them both to the ground.

"I missed you," Chloe said, resting her chin on Beca's shoulder.

"I missed you, too," Beca responded, hugging Chloe just a bit tighter.

Chloe pulled back and turned to Jessica; she pulled Jessica into a hug.

"I missed you, too, Jess."

"Same," Jessica said. "It's good to see you. You look good, Chloe."

"Thanks," Chloe said, releasing Jessica from the hug. "I spent a lot of time at the beach while I was home."

"I'm glad to see you both," Beca spoke up. "But I should go unpack. When Amy gets here, I won't have a moment's peace."

Beca walked out of the kitchen.

"Let's plan to go out for dinner," Chloe's voice followed after her.

"Will do," Beca called over her shoulder.

~ Day 24 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~

Beca was surprised at how easily she and the Bellas fell into a routine. They each held their own in keeping the Bellas Houses running smoothly. (Read: Chloe took charge of handing out duties and overseeing the day-to-day functions, while Beca handled the rehearsals.)

Beca was even more surprised that she didn't miss Jesse as much as she thought she would. They saw each other on campus every day, either going to class or coming from class, working at the radio station (Beca in the booth; Jesse stacking CDs), and at the countless parties, the Bellas and Trebles attended.

Beca had figured out the when regarding giving Chloe the necklace; all she had to do now figure out the how.

"Just wrap it and give it to her," Jessica suggested about two weeks before Christmas.

"I want it to be a surprise," Beca said. "I'm thinking of leaving it for her with a note signed by her secret admirer."

"That's so cute," Jessica said, grinning at the grimace on Beca's face.

"I don't want it to be cute," Beca said. "I want it to feel romantic."

"Make sure the note is sweet and expresses your love," Jessica said. "And tell her to meet you someplace so you can see her open it. Go there and watch; once she opens it, reveal yourself. That would be romantic as hell."

"I like that idea," Beca said. "I'll have her meet me at the diner where you work. That way, you can give her the gift and tell her someone asked you to deliver it to her table."

"I'm in," Jessica said. "I'll check the schedule and let you know what day would be good to do it."

"Okay," Beca said. "I'll work on the note to get her there. Thanks, Jessica."

~ Day 24 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~

A few days later, Beca was in Jessica's room. Jessica told Beca that she was working on December 23 and that would be the best day for the gift-giving surprise.

"That's perfect," Beca said. "Chloe doesn't leave for home until Christmas Eve. If she doesn't feel the same way, I'll have the entire break to get over it. If she does, I'll have something to look forward to when she gets back."

"I think you'll be sporting a big smile during the break," Jessica said, smiling.

"I haven't written the note yet," Beca said as she turned to leave Jessica's room. "I'll do that now, and then I'll leave it in the mailbox for her so she won't know it's from someone inside the house."

Beca left Jessica and immediately ran up to her room to work on the note.

"Chloe," Beca mumbled, sitting at her laptop with Google Docs opened in front of her. "No, that's lame," Beca muttered as she deleted the lone word. "My Dearest Chloe," she said as she typed. She continued typing, speaking the words out loud as she watched them come together on the screen.

"Signed your secret admirer," Beca said, finishing the note. She read through the note and whisper-yelled, "Perfect! Now print. And done!"

Beca didn't want Chloe to recognize her handwriting, so she used the printer to put Chloe's name on the envelope before placing the note inside. She sealed the envelope and stuck it in her computer bag to keep it hidden until she could put it in the mailbox.

Beca's chance came on Sunday night. It was just after Midnight as Beca made her way home from the radio station. As she approached the Bellas house, she thought this was the perfect time to slip Chloe's note into the mailbox. She dug through her bag and pulled out the envelope, placing it in the box before heading inside. She quietly closed and locked the door. She leaned her back against the door for a moment.

"I just need to wait a few more days," Beca thought before she quietly made her way to her room and went to bed.

~ Day 24 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~

Beca was awakened on Monday morning (not late enough to suit her) by the sound of loud laughter and talking coming from Chloe and some of the Bellas. She pulled herself out of bed and made her way downstairs, following the noise to the kitchen. She found Chloe, Stacie, Ashley, and Cynthia Rose around the counter, eating and drinking coffee.

"Oh, hey, Beca," Ashley said.

"Did we wake you?" Stacie asked.

"Yes, but I'm actually glad you did," Beca said. "I have a class in an hour. I just need some coffee to get myself going."

By the time she finished the statement, Chloe was placing a cup of coffee in her hands.

"God, I love you," Beca said, inhaling the heavenly brew.

"Are you talking to Chloe or the coffee?" Cynthia Rose asked with a laugh.

"The coffee," Chloe and Beca respond simultaneously.

"You know me so well," Beca told Chloe with a smirk. "Thanks for the coffee. I need to shower and get ready for class. Thankfully, I only have two this week, and then comes Winter Break. I'll see you girls later."

Beca walked out, waving at the girls.

"Did anyone check the mail over the weekend?" Stacie asked. "I'm expecting a card from my grandmother. She always sends me a check for Christmas, and I still have few gifts to buy before I go home."

"I'll check it now," Chloe said and made her way out of the kitchen.

Chloe came back a few minutes later with her hands full of mail.

"Here you go, Stacie," Chloe said, handing over three envelopes. She checked the other envelopes and started handing them out. "Cynthia Rose, Ashley, and, oh, this one's mine."

Chloe set the rest of the mail on the counter and looked at the envelope; she turned it over in her hands, furrowing her brow.

"What's wrong, Chloe?" Stacie asked.

"This wasn't mailed," Chloe said. "It has my name on it but no address. Someone must have put it in the box."

"Ooo," Ashley said. "How mysterious. Open it up, and let's see who it's from."

Chloe opened the envelope and pulled out the note. She read it and smiled.

"Well?" CR prodded.

"It appears I have a secret admirer," Chloe said, smiling as she folded the note and put it back in the envelope. "They want me to meet them for dinner at the diner just off campus on Friday."

"Isn't that the diner Jessica works at?" Stacie asked.

"Yep," Chloe responded.

"I know Jessica's scheduled to work that night, too," Ashley said. "She can give us a blow-by-blow update on Chloe's date with her secret admirer."

"That's good," Stacie said. "Jess can keep an eye on things in case this admirer turns out to be some sort of creep."

"I hadn't thought of that," Chloe said. "I just thought that maybe it was someone I already knew."

"I'd feel safer if someone was with you," Cynthia Rose said. "Or at least close by to keep an eye on things."

"I'm with Cynthia on this," Ashley said.

Stacie agreed, and Chloe nodded her head. "I think you're right," she said. "I can talk to Jessica, and we'll come up with a sign so if I'm uncomfortable, she can come over, and I'll have an easy out."

~ Day 24 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~

It was Thursday, and Beca was anxious. Chloe's secret admirer and date were all the Bellas could talk about.

Beca quietly knocked on Jessica's door before entering.

"How are you holding up?" Jessica asked when Beca entered her room.

"I'm actually glad I have my last final today," Beca responded. "It will keep my mind off of tomorrow. I just hope Chloe's not disappointed when I show up at the diner."

"Don't worry," Jessica said. "I'll be there for both of you. And unless Chloe uses the safe word, you should be okay."

Jessica laughed at the wide-eyed incredulous look Beca gave her.

"Do you think she'll use the safe word when she sees that I'm the person she's meeting?"

"Stop worrying," Jessica laughed. "I'm one-hundred percent sure you have nothing to be concerned about."

"Thanks," Beca said, letting out a heavy breath. "I hope you're right."

"I am," Jessica said. "When you get back from your test, I'll help you figure out what to wear if you want."

"I already know what I'm going to wear," Beca said. "But, I would like your opinion on it, if you don't mind?"

"Let me know when you're back," Jessica said. "And I'll come up to your room."

"I'll do that," Beca said. "I'd better go. I don't want to be late for class, or I'll automatically fail."

"Go!" Jessica said, rushing Beca out the door. "Good luck, and I'll see you later."

Later that day, Beca showed Jessica the outfit she had picked for her date with Chloe.

"I approve," Jessica said, whistling at Beca. "Very nice. Chloe will love it."

"Thanks," Beca said, smiling with relief. "I'm so nervous. I just hope I don't pull a Posen between now and our date."

Jessica chuckled and left Beca's room.

~ Day 24 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~

On Friday, Beca spent the better part of her day hiding out at her dad's. She was worried that if she stayed at the Bellas' House, she wouldn't be able to avoid Chloe and she didn't want to spoil the surprise.

Beca texted Jessica when she was leaving for the diner to make sure everything was still a go.

Jessica: Everything is all set here.

Beca: You have the necklace, right?

Jessica: Got it. Stop worrying and just get here.

Chloe arrived at the diner and looked around.

"Hey, Chloe," Jessica said.

"Chloe?" the hostess asked. "As in Chloe Beale?"

"Yeah," Chloe said. "That's me."

"Here," the hostess said, holding out a small wrapped package. "This was left for you."

"Do you know who left it?" Chloe asked.

"No, sorry," the hostess said. "It was here when I arrived. It had a note that said to give it Chloe Beale when she arrived."

"Thank you," Chloe said, holding the gift.

"I got this one, Sarah," Jessica told the hostess as she grabbed two menus. "Follow me, Chloe. I'll seat you."

"Thanks, Jess," Chloe said. "I'm so nervous."

"Don't be," Jessica said. "You look amazing. Your secret admirer won't know what hit her."

Jessica stumbled a bit and looked at Chloe, but Chloe didn't seem to notice Jessica's slip when she said 'her.'

"Here you go," Jessica said. "I'll also be your waitress. Can I get you something to drink?"

"I'll just have an iced tea, please," Chloe said as she sat down.

"I'll bring it right over," Jessica said and walked away.

Chloe looked down at the gift and decided to wait to open it. Jessica saw Beca waving at her from the back of the diner and went over to her.

"Did Chloe get the gift?"

"Yeah, she has it."

"Good."

"When are you going to go over to her?"

"I'm going to wait a few minutes and then go out there," Beca responded. "I can see her from here, but she can't see me."

"Okay," Jessica said. "I'd better go."

"Thanks again for all your help," Beca said before furrowing her brow and saying, "What the hell?"

"What's wrong?"

"Is that Tom?"

Jessica looked over to Chloe's table to see Tom standing there.

"Yes, it is."

"What's he doing here?"

"I'm visiting some of the guys," Tom told Chloe. "I've been wanting to see you. I'm glad you're here."

"Tom's my secret admirer?" Chloe thought, trying to hide her disappointment.

"Please join me," Chloe said not want to appear rude.

Tom sat and looked at Chloe.

"Are you going to open that?" Tom asked, pointing to the gift in Chloe's hand.

"I guess I should," Chloe said.

Chloe tore the paper off and opened the small box. She let out a small gasp.

"Oh, my God," Chloe said. "Tom it's beautiful. Thank you."

Tom had a confused looked on his face.

"When I got the note from a secret admirer," Chloe said. "I never dreamt it was you. This necklace is amazing. It looks like an antique; this must have cost you a fortune."

Tom looked blankly at Chloe, while his mind went on fast forward and he suddenly smiled.

"You're totally worth it, Chlo," Tom said softly. "I wanted you to know how much you mean to me. I've thought about you a lot over the past two years. I've missed you and I'm hoping this could be the start of something more."

"Um," Chloe stuttered.

"Here's your tea," Jessica said, placing the glass in front of Chloe. She turned to look at Tom. "Are you staying?"

"Tom's my secret admirer," Chloe told Jessica.

"What?!"

"Yeah," Chloe said. "Comes as quite a surprise to me, too."

"Artichoke!"

"What?" Chloe and Tom say simultaneously.

"Jessica?" Chloe asked.

"I need to talk to you, Chloe," Jessica said. "Tom, would you excuse us for a moment?"

"Sure," Tom said. "Now that I know Chloe wants to be with me, too, I'm not going anywhere."

Chloe gave Tom a small smile as she stood to follow Jessica. Jessica led Chloe toward the back of the diner; Beca stayed hidden and listened.

"What's going on, Jessica?" Chloe asked. "I thought I was supposed to use the safe word. Why'd you use it?"

"Tom's not your secret admirer," Jessica said.

"Yes, he is," Chloe said.

"Chloe," Jessica said. "Trust me. I know who your secret admirer is and it's not Tom."

"Then why did he say he was?"

"I don't know."

"If it's not Tom, who is my real secret admirer?"

"I can't tell you," Jessica said. "I promised I'd let her tell you."

"Her?"

"Yes, her."

Beca stepped out and Chloe looked over at her.

"Beca?" Chloe said. "What are you doing-? It's you? You're my secret admirer?"

"I'm sorry," Beca said, looking down at the ground.

Jessica quietly turned and walked away, leaving the two alone to talk.

"Why are you sorry?" Chloe asked.

"I saw the way you were looking at Tom when you thought it was him," Beca said. "I hate to say this but I'm going to need that necklace back. It was my great-grandmother's."

"And you were giving it to me?"

"It's very special to me," Beca said. "And so are you. I thought you would think this was romantic. I should have known you would rather it be Tom."

"So, what you wrote in that note," Chloe said. "Was it true?"

"Yes, everything I said was, is true," Beca said. "I've been falling in love with you for two years. I broke up with Jesse because I wasn't being fair to him. I didn't want to stay with him, knowing I didn't love him like I love you."

"You really love me?"

"I do."

"Chloe?" Tom asked as he came to stand next to her. "Everything okay here?"

"Why did you lie to me, Tom?"

"What?"

"You knew you weren't my secret admirer," Chloe said. "Why did you act like you were?"

"I took a chance," Tom said, sheepishly. "I figured the way you were talking that you had no idea who it was. I thought I could talk you into leaving with me before your real secret admirer showed up."

"You were wrong," Chloe said, looking at Beca. "My real secret admirer was here the whole time. And she's the one I want to be with."

Beca's head shot up to see Chloe smiling at her.

"I kind of figured you were into each other," Tom said. "I saw the way you looked at each other in the shower. And you never stopped talking about her after that. I hope she makes you happy, Chloe."

"She will," Chloe said, her eyes never leaving Beca. "She does."

Beca couldn't hold back any longer. She grabbed Chloe and pulled her toward her, smashing their lips together.

Chloe put her arms around Beca's neck and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. Tom stood by awkwardly and finally walked away when he became uncomfortable.

Beca and Chloe broke the kiss when they heard someone clearing their throat. They both looked over to see Jessica watching them.

"Here," Jessica said, handing the necklace to Chloe. "I believe this belongs to you."

"Merry Christmas, Chloe," Beca said, holding out her hand. "May I put it on you?"

"Yes, please," Chloe said, pulling her hair off her neck.

Beca reached around Chloe's neck and clasped the necklace. Chloe dropped her hair down and turned to face Beca.

"You're beautiful," Beca whispered, causing Chloe to blush. "And the necklace looks great on you."

"I can't believe you're giving me a family heirloom," Chloe said, somewhat awestruck.

"I hope you know it comes with a lifetime commitment," Beca said with a smirk.

"I'm counting on it," Chloe said, as she pulled Beca in for another kiss.

"Yes!" Jessica said, causing Beca and Chloe to look over at her. "I got it on video."

Beca raised an eyebrow toward her.

"What?" Jessica asked. "The Bellas will kill me if I go home without it."

Beca and Chloe both chuckled and went back to their kiss.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Full prompt from Tumblr User rejection-isnt-failure: "I actually have a tiny request if that's okay? Something very similar, either Beca or Chloe receiving such a meaningful antique, and then whomever they're dating, ie, Chloe's ex-boy toy Tom or Jesse (Beca's recent ex wanting her back) taking credit for it and Beca/Chloe feeling disappointed that it didn't come from who they thought it did. They find out the real person through Tom/Jesse's slip-up."

#bechloe #bechloe fanfiction #beca mitchell #chloe beale #christmas 2020

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vampiresuns · 3 years

Text

This Is How We Say Goodbye (Song To The Open Road) | Asra x Milenko

☽ THIS IS HOW WE SAY GOODBYE (SONG TO THE OPEN ROAD) ☽

1.9k words. Written for Asra Week, day 6: Promise. In which the Plague ravages Vesuvia, there’s an argument and Asra and Milenko part ways.

You can catch up with Milasra’s pre-game canon, ‘Like Thirst Holds Water’, here.

When Anatole and Milenko got involved, Asra and Amparo were already fighting.

Their relationship had always been peculiar. More than friends, they were sometimes mirrors, matchstick and friction, cause and reaction. While Milenko was the one Asra had fallen in love with, and Anatole the one who he rode and died for, Amparo tended to spring Asra into motion. Both of them did things in almost identical ways — Asra’s sun sign was Amparo’s moon sign, her rising sign, his moon. As such, they gave the idea of instant compenetration, of unspoken frequencies vibrating in the same way.

Amparo, the animancer, the actress, the dancer, the impersonator imbued in Asra something the others could not quite describe. That was Amparo’s charm, after all, that pizzaz that made her no one other than La Cassano.

In that way, they shouldn’t have been surprised they would butt heads this way. They shouldn’t have been surprised that nothing could deescalate the fight either. Everyone was tired, everyone was grieving. The City was ridden with the Plague, there were no answers and no solutions offered, and for the first time in the almost 20 years Lucio had ruled the inevitable had happened: the Council of Vesuvia wasn’t enough, and now it was too late for them to remove Lucio from power by declaring him unfit to rule. The mechanisms would not work, the tissue of the Court was almost entirely destroyed, and the people were ill and needed food, clean water and doctors.

Their families had decided to all ride this out together in the Palazzo, with the proper health regulations that they could adopt. The building could house them all without problem but more importantly, it would mean they would be together. Many things were said about them, like how nothing mortal could kill them, based on an old, old story of how the Consul’s office had become theirs. It was no less true that the Radošević-Cassano did not survive alone.

So they grouped, they went back home, and with their location inside the walls of the infamous Palazzo Cassano, they took in their closest friends. Their families had begun as friends, marrying between each other was recent, and only a kink of some very specific sets of family members. To them, family wasn’t blood, family was a choice.

They had asked Asra to move in with them, and with that, to relocate Muriel, no one had to know he was in the Palazzo with them, specially not the Count. Asra, however, wanted to leave, and he wanted to convince Amparo, Anatole and Milenko to go with him, so they all would take their stuff and go, and abandon Vesuvia — a City that had never done anything for any of them. There was no point in dying in it, let alone for it.

Naturally, the proposal turned into an argument. Amparo especially would not leave her mother and parent, Amparo would not leave Anzano, their grandparent, as she knew they would not leave Vesuvia. Anzano was old, very old, but still fit for travel; however, they had once been the High Priest of the Sun and had trained the new one, just like their spouse Atilia Cassano, had been the High Priest of the Moon. They wouldn’t leave a City they felt a sense of responsibility towards, and Amparo herself would not desert her family when they needed her.

Milenko had a similar idea. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t leave when he could help, he couldn’t leave when his mothers would not go, when his grandfather would not go, when his cousins would not go. Unlike Amparo he had no will to argue with Asra, instead, with the help of Anatole they tried to calm it down, so Asra could see where they were coming from, and they could try and answer Asra’s concerns.

It didn’t work. Everyone was strung, stressed and grieving, so it was a matter of time before one of them said the wrong thing, at the wrong time, with whoever the comment had been directed at not wanting to be understanding about it. It was a matter of time before they were all arguing in the ground floor of the Moonstone and Jasmine, all of Asra’s things packed up as he said he was not staying to die in a City like Vesuvia and how anyone with half a mind would do the same.

Milenko saw the point of no return happen in slow motion: Asra’s words collided with nothing other than the behemoth that was the Cassano’s sense of pride. Whatever they had begun, it could not be stopped now.

A lot of accusations flew around. Amparo tried to tell Asra that he couldn’t just expect her to leave the City she had always lived in, the City that she hoped to die in at old age. Asra told her what did she know about losing homes, she who had been born in the Heart District with a silver spoon on her mouth, who had never had to struggle because she always had a roof above her head. Funnily enough, Amparo’s patience ran out when he told her that she couldn’t even cook for herself.

“Do whatever you want. I’m not leaving. If that’s all you think of me, then forget we were ever friends Asra.”

She disappeared into the upstairs of the shop, into its main living quarters.

“Asra, that’s not fair,” Milenko said. His tone was critical, but he still tried to stay as calm as possible. Maybe if Asra could see that he really would be safe—

Then Anatole spoke, his anger raw, yet cold and precise, like a well practiced fencing blow: “What the fuck is wrong with you. If we were a bunch of superior assholes who did everything for our own benefit—”

Asra snapped. “No, but you sure think you’ll save Vesuvia from Lucio just from existing, as if anyone in this city would ever care if you lived or died, Anatole. That’s what you do, don’t you? Pretend like you can fix his mistakes while everyone else suffers from them.”

The silence that fell between the three of them was abrupt, soon ringing in their ears, but when Asra tried to apologise, noticing he had said the wrong thing, it was too late.

Anatole looked like he had been slapped.

“Toly?” Milenko asked, moving closer to his cousin to squeeze his shoulder, wanting to make sure he was okay. Asra’s words had hit one of Anatole’s greatest fears: that no matter how hard he tried, it’d never be enough.

Before he could reach Anatole, his cousin’s face changed. As his features shifted with anger, Anatole spoke again.

Now he was truly and really angry. “You meant that.”

The issue with words was you couldn’t take them back once you said them. All you could do is hope the other person would forgive you and understand if you had misspoken. As Milenko was once again caught between Asra and Anatole arguing, he realised this was one thing Anatole might never forgive. He doubted it was his place to say, yet Milenko didn’t know if he could even advocate for Anatole forgiving Asra’s words, with time.

The issue wasn’t about who was right or wrong. There was no right or wrong, there was no miraculous answer in this unsalvageable situation. It was that Asra had meant it. Part of Anatole’s language magic was this: he was able to read feelings and intentions in spoken words. As a language manipulator, he could tell everything which people (intentionally or otherwise) imbued into words when they spoke, even if he couldn’t tell the why or the how.

Would he be able to carry on if he could feel that after years of showing honesty and vulnerability because you want the other person to know you, this was what they thought at their worst?

The argument didn’t last much longer. Anatole, not wanting to speak, went upstairs to check on Amparo, while Milenko and Asra stood alone on the ground floor of the shop.

The magician began taking his things, preparing himself to leave for real. Milenko followed him, standing outside of the backdoor as he looked at Asra adjusting his travelling coat. Amparo has gotten it for him. It was handmade, Amparo’s gift to Asra two birthdays ago.

“Aren’t you going to say farewell?”

Asra startled, not expecting Milenko standing there. “I thought there was nothing else to say.”

Once again they stood in silence. It felt like forever, even if it was probably just a couple of seconds. They were aware of every moment they lost to silence, looking at each other under the Vesuvian sunset. They felt far away, miles away.

It hurt to realise, more than Milenko was willing to admit, but Anatole had been right: he still remembered when they were arguing about Asra not asking for help about Muriel. They could be as open as they wanted with Asra, but Asra would never step in time with them, even if he wanted to.

Who better than Milenko to know this, and to know that sometimes, it was through no fault of his own.

Asra spoke first. “You think I’m making the wrong choice.”

Milenko pressed his lips together. “I don’t think there’s a right choice. There’s just the best we can do with the options we’re given.”

“You don’t think I could do better with mine?”

“I don’t know, beloved, could you?”

“Don’t— don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry. Force of habit.”

“I forgive you,” Asra said, shifting his weight between his feet. He wanted to say something else, yet he said nothing.

“Asra. I’m not judging you. I already told you I am no one to judge.”

“How can you say that to me at a time like this?”

“What? It’s the truth. I don’t like that you’re leaving and I would never make the choices you are making, and I could give you a piece of my mind and point fingers at you. I am angry, I’m hurt, but nothing I accuse you of will make me feel better. Judging you will not make me feel better, so I won’t. I’ve never done.”

“Sometimes,” Asra said, dislodging his travel bag from his shoulder, “sometimes I wish you did. It would make leaving easier.”

To Milenko’s surprise, Asra crossed the distance between them. Milenko didn’t stop his hand from cupping Asra’s cheek. Asra leaned against it, even if he wished he hadn’t. Asra closed his eyes, tears coming through his closed eyelids.

“You know I won’t ask you to stay,” Milenko said, getting teary himself.

“Just like I know I won’t get you to leave.”

“Just promise me you’ll think about it, Asra. Promise me that at the very least, you’ll try to take good care of yourself.”

Asra opened his eyes, his vision blurred because of the tears. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, letting Faust slither into his arm to stretch herself all the way to say goodbye to Milenko.

Her tongue flicked against his nose, making Asra smile.

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself too, please.”

Milenko nodded, Asra saying his farewells before turning around and walking away as fast as he could without breaking into a run. Milenko watched him go, until Ursula, his familiar, nudged him inside.

“May Allah keep you safe, Habibi,” he said to the empty street before closing the door behind him.

#the arcana #asraweek2021 #the arcana oc #milenko #asra alnazar #asra #milasra #like thirst holds water #amparo cassano #aelius anatole #my writing

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infinitelytheheartexpands · 3 years

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Do you have any stories or figures, etc. (of your creation OR already existent) that you'd like to see adapted into an opera? Who'd the dream cast be and what would it look like, sound like?

I have two stories I wrote in high school that I'd love to see as operas:

For Every Spring--short story about a mother and daughter during the Reign of Terror

Madeleine: Ying Fang

The Mother: Joyce DiDonato

sparse unit set, cross between music of the time period and a quintessential French Romantic style

The Last Testament of a "Monstrous" Condemned Woman-- prison flashback story about rediscovering art, burglary, and murderous arson

The Woman: Marina Rebeka

The Investigator: Gerald Finley

not sure about who to play the smaller characters, it's set at an unspecified point in the mid-to-late 1800s, so look reflects that, sound kinda reflects that but I also envision it as Korngold/Expressionist-esque

(the full text of both stories is below. please keep in mind that these are both at least three and a half years old):

For Every Spring:

March 19, 1794, evening.

“Go on now. Do it.”

The woman’s voice filled her daughter’s ears with that simple command. The daughter was standing with a pair of scissors in one hand, staring into a mirror hung on the otherwise bare wooden wall. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

“Mama, how much more can this revolution take from me?”

Her mother could hear her daughter’s weariness and despair, and for a moment, felt pity for her, but steeled herself. “You must do it. There is nothing left for me. But perhaps you could still escape.”

“I don’t want to go without you.”

“You must. There is no way I could escape… the revolutionary leaders know me too well. But they wouldn’t recognize you if you dressed in an urchin boy’s rags and had a dirty face.” Mother glanced at her daughter’s shining blonde hair that went almost halfway down her back again and sighed. “The hair, though. In order to look like a boy, you have to cut off your hair. If they see long hair, they’d suspect you’re hiding something…” She shivered. “And they would investigate, and it wouldn’t end well for you.”

“But what if I pulled it back? Tucked it in under my hat?”

“It could fall down. And if they took your hat off and saw a bunch of pulled-back hair…”

“I know, but other than you, my hair is my one joy left.”

“It’ll grow back.”

The young woman paused. She fell into a swirl of memories: how her father had loved her long golden hair, how when she was little, he would toy with it and tell her it was more beautiful than any princess’s, and finally, how the Reign of Terror had brutally claimed him, just like it was about to claim her mother.

Her mother went on, “Your life is more important…” Knowing her daughter was still hesitant, she took the scissors out of her daughter’s hand. “Now hold up your hair so I can cut it.”

The daughter obliged, but at the same time, a single tear trickled down her pale cheek.

Snip.

The first cut, like a dagger to the heart.

Snip-snip-snip-snip-snip…

In just a few minutes, the deed was done. The girl’s long golden locks were scattered all over the bare floor.

Mother turned her around and gazed into the girl’s eyes. She slowly whispered, “You look just like Papa…”

The tears her daughter had tried to hold back burst forth in her grief, and she collapsed in the middle of the cut-off locks of hair, weeping.

“I lost Papa, and now I must lose you! Why must I lose everyone and everything that brings me any happiness?”

The woman took her daughter in her arms as outside in the streets, people cried, “Vive la révolution! Vive Robespierre!” She said, almost under her breath, “You haven’t lost your life like I will tomorrow. You can make it out of the country, and you will, I know. Don’t stay to see me die, or you will too. Remember the plan?”

“Wear the peasant rags. I’ve done that,” she broke off, gesturing at the clothes she was now wearing. She quickly continued, “Dirty your face in the soot. Take the sack of bread, cheese, and money and leave under cover of night. Tell the guards at the city gates that your name is Raoul, and you’re going to see your sick aunt in Calais. Go to Calais; tell the guards there that you’re going to London to see your uncle. Get to London somehow- stow away on a ship if you must, and start over again. Without your mother who cares for you and wants nothing more than-“ She stopped, momentarily unwilling to recite the last part of the instructions her mother had drilled into her head.

But she took a slow, deep breath and finished,“To go with you, but she must be with you from afar, not by your side.” Her body shook with her sobs.

“Yes,” her mother replied. Now she was crying too. “But take heart, my child, and remember I love you more than the sun and the moon and the stars and the whole world.” She sighed. “Madeleine…”

“Yes, Mama?”

“I wish it didn’t have to end this way.”

“Me too.”

Now it was raining outside, and it was dark. The only light came from the half-moon shimmering in the black sky. It was silent now except for their weeping.

At last, Madeleine said, “It’s raining. See? The sky is crying because of your death.”

“No,” her mother firmly replied, not wanting to hear of any pity. “The sky is not crying- not for me, not for you, not for anyone. It is merely raining, my child. Spring is coming, don’t you remember?”

“Yes, but for every spring…” Madeleine did not dare say the second part of the saying she had heard about spring.

Mama sighed and finished it for her, “A winter melts away.” She shivered and continued, “I am the winter. I have lived a long life, I am old, I am about to die.”

Madeleine wept.

“But you- you are the spring, so young, so beautiful, with such a bright future ahead. Go and live. Do not stay to see me die.”

Madeleine, still crying, sat by her mother, and her mother took her into her arms. They held on to each other, not wanting to ever let go, though they both knew inside that sometime, they would have to let go of each other- forever.

At last, Mother whispered, “Go, my child.” She let go.

Madeleine grabbed the sack and was almost out the window before she looked back at her mother for the last time. She whispered, “I love you, Mama.”

The response, softly spoken through quiet tears, was simple. “I love you too. Goodbye.”

Madeleine slipped out the window.

Some time later, a church bell chimed midnight. “The beginning of a new day, a new spring. Today is the first day of spring,” she thought.

At last, she whispered into the air, to her daughter, wherever she was now,

“For every spring, a winter melts away. But please, Madeleine, do not think about the winter melting… ”

The Last Testament of A "Monstrous" Condemned Woman:

“The Venetian government sent me here.”

The man faced me, with a look that could best be described as a mix of utter contempt and bewildered curiosity, but still managing to be very official, on his face.

“Why? Do they usually do this to prisoners awaiting their imminent execution?”

“No,” he replied very sharply. “They sent me here because even after the questioning and your trial, they still do not understand why you did everything that you did. And your crimes- they are sensational, to say the least. Your trial had the whole city in an uproar. And, mia piccina,” he added with disdain, “that is a very hard thing to do in such a city as Venice. So before you are executed at dawn, they want to know why-why you caused such destruction so heartlessly, why you took so many lives like a hardened assassin.”

“Heartless? A hardened assassin?” I just managed to get out the words. “No, no. You do not understand. The reason I did not talk is because they would not listen. They saw a monster. That is all they saw, just like I know you see me now.”

“Do you not want to preserve your own story before you die?”

His words startled me. And then I realized it: This is my only chance to show them that I am no monster.

“Very well, then,” I replied. “I will tell you everything.”

Without looking at me, he reached into his bag, pulling out a notepad and a pen and setting the pad on his lap. After that, with eyes still averted, he told me, “You talk, I take notes. Begin now, for dawn will come before long.”

“I was born in the English countryside, the only child of a scholar who had come into some wealth thanks to his marriage to the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in all England. Throughout my childhood, I was constantly exposed to all sorts of wonderful thoughts and books and ideas because many scholars would come and share their thoughts on every subject imaginable. My father was always one of the ones who talked the most- he knew so much, and he always wanted to learn more, to discover more-”

“Will you please stop wasting time and get to the point?”

“That was just what I was doing,” I snapped back. “Anyway, he was very ambitious. As time went on, I became more interested in art than anything else. I could not draw, paint, or sculpt to save my life, but I marveled at its beauty, the way some people were just able to recreate something out there in the world, and I wanted to understand how they did it. And there was another aspect of it, too, that fascinated me: there would be scholars that came from Paris, from Rome, from the Netherlands to share these great lost artworks that they had rediscovered, and to tell how they had become renowned for finding these artworks, how the art would be preserved for eternity and so would they, for the simple reason that after all these years, they had found these masterpieces and given them new life. And I? I wanted to do just that too.”

At that moment, I noticed him hurriedly writing, trying to keep up with everything I was saying.

“I can wait for you to finish writing,” I offered.

He nodded, and for several seconds, I said nothing as he finished his notes.

“So what does this have to do with you coming to Venice?” he eventually asked.

“Well, the time came when my father passed away. When he died, he left his entire estate to me, including all of the books in his library. I had never seen many of them- he never let me read them, because they were too precious. But he promised me that when I inherited the estate, I could read as many of the books as I wished.”

“Those books,” I continued, “became my way of healing from the grief. To read the same books that my father had studied from somehow felt like a way of being near him, and that eased the pain. I spent almost every waking hour exploring the library, reading and then reading some more.”

I paused, and a thought shot through me: This is the moment you set down this road of sorrow. I shook it off though, and went on:

“One night, I was browsing through the shelves when I came across a set of eight dusty old books. They were all about Italian artists from the Late Middle Ages and the Renaissance. I can hardly describe to you the effect of these books. They had a massive effect on me, but not for the reason you think.”

“Well then, what was the reason?”

“The front cover of each book had a most interesting thing written in it. Together, they seemed to make up a series of instructions for finding a lost artwork. And those instructions were thus:

‘The city of the winged lion has many secrets yet to give up,

Including one by one not older, but younger.

A fire blazing in the Palazzo Ducale

Took the lives of many masterpieces,

And this was thought to be one of them.

But a saint still lives, preserved in that palace,

Old but still preserved, and still preserving,

Francesco’s St. Jerome writes, though he is asleep, and does not die!’

Now I knew enough to know this: the city of the winged lion is Venice, and the fire was the great Doge’s Palace fire in the late 1500s. The “younger” was almost certainly Palma il Giovane, who was the great-nephew of Palma Vecchio, a good enough painter, and who painted extensively for a Francesco, Duke Francesco Maria II of Urbino. It was known that Palma had painted St. Jerome for Francesco, but everyone assumed that the painting had been lost. And as soon as I figured all of this out, I thought, ‘What if this could be the great discovery I have hoped to make?’ You understand, I was very ambitious, and at that moment I resolved to find it, no matter what.”

“Let me get this straight. You pieced together some handwritten sentences, thought overly hard about their implications, and decided to go and do whatever it took to get this precious painting?”

“Exactly.”

“You are British, yes? You are just like Lady Macbeth! You get a hint of an idea, and you murder anyone who stands in the way of you!”

“No. I never planned on murdering anyone, I swear! Now if you would just be quiet, I would get to that!”

Silence. I shook my head, and went on:

“The next day, with nothing but two hundred pounds, a sack of food and water, and the instructions copied onto a sheet- you see, I wasn’t planning on staying in Venice- I left home, and went to London. And from there I traveled on, first to Le Havre, then to Paris-”

“No one needs to know your travel itinerary.”

At that moment, a church bell chimed twice.

“It’s summer, and dawn will be here before too long,” the man advised. “Now I suggest you stop wasting your last hours and skip to you getting to Venice and exactly why you did what you did here. You don’t have much time left to tell your story, you know.” He seemed not so much impatient now as considerate, as if he were genuinely interested in what I was telling him.

“Fine. Anyway, I arrived in Venice, and I immediately set out for the Doge’s Palace. When I got there, it took me forever to find the painting, especially because I had no idea what it actually would look like. No one knew anything about the dimensions or the medium or what it looked like because it had been lost for so long. But everyone was saying that it had been called a masterpiece in its day, that it would be a major find. And that was what kept me going during those hard days and nights of searching. And at last, I found it inside one of the private rooms once used by the Doges of Venice.”

“So you found it. Congratulations. And how did you get here?”

“I wanted to return home, to my books, and bring the painting with me. I was planning to study the painting and only then reveal to the world what I found. But there was a problem, one I had not anticipated.”

“And what was that, mia piccina?” He no longer said it condescendingly, but as if he genuinely cared about everything I had gone through.

“I had no money left, no money to return home, and no way of getting any money, or at least, I did not think I had a way of getting any money.”

I shuddered with remorse now, thinking of where I had gotten the idea.

“Later on, I was roaming the streets, thinking about what I could do in order to get back home. At first, I was thinking of begging, but I thought that was weak. I am not a victim, and I would not allow myself to be weak like that. And then, I saw a jewelry house, with many fine jewels in the windows, the most and the finest diamonds by far I had ever seen! And the store- it was called the Salvadori Diamond Atelier, I believe- was not even guarded! Even though it had all these wonderful jewels worth thousands, thousands of pounds, I tell you!” I cried.

His brows had furrowed, and I knew what he was thinking now.

“Sir, sir, I feel so much remorse for this, it’s true, but when I saw all those lovely diamonds, I could not help but think, ‘This is my way to get money, to go home at last and someday show the world what I have accomplished, and fulfill my ambition.’ And I resolved to steal as many diamonds as I could that very night, so I could sell them for money.”

No, no, no. I cannot bear to tell this… but all of Venice already knows this…and I must tell this…oh God, but it haunts me so much…

My face must have gone pale, because the man asked, “Are you ill? Do you need to rest?”

“No, I just feel so, so guilty and horrified by what I am about to tell you…” I took a deep breath. “But I must tell you anyway.”

“That night, it happened to be a new moon, and the full darkness of the sky covered me. I felt so confident that everything would go according to plan. I would get in, take some diamonds, and leave Venice at once.”

“And indeed,” I continued, “at first, everything went according to plan. There was a door in the back, a very small door, that had been left unlocked. I slipped inside and slowly felt my way into the shop until I found the glass cases. And that was the point when things started going awry: I had found a pin, and since I had been taught how to trick a lock using a pin, I thought that I could simply use the pin, unlock the case, and stuff the jewels inside my bag. But the pin did not work- I don’t know whether the lock was very special or whether I just performed the trick wrong. It wouldn’t open though, so I had to resort to smashing the glass.”

“Let me guess,” he said, looking up from his notes. “Someone heard, and started shouting for the police?”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know, because of how concentrated I was on my work, although that is probably it. But in any case, the police arrived, and in that moment, I realized that if I was caught, then I would be arrested and likely never return to England again. And I also realized that there was no way for me to make it to that small door unseen. But there was still another option.”

“What was it?” Now he was leaning forward.

I panicked inside. Please, I want to go back in time somehow, make it so I never did this, so that I never caused so much pain, which I never wanted to do…

“There was a small oil lamp with a flame inside the case, some wood that had broken off the case frame, and a jar of oil. And I realized that a fire would cause confusion, during which I could possibly escape. So,” I shut my eyes and said as fast as possible, “I poured the oil onto the wood, dropped the lamp on top, yelled ‘You will die before you discover me!’, and ran out of the shop, to the streets, and as I ran, I saw the whole building burst into flames and I heard screams, screams of officers burning, burning to death. Those screams, they haunt me still, even after all these weeks in prison and in court. And I smelled their flesh burning, and I relished it at first, knowing I had made it out.” And I realized I was shaking, and yes, starting to feel sick.

“But you seem so full of pain and remorse now,” the man said, confused.

“Just a few minutes later, I ran into another officer. The sight of him made me realize what I had done- I had killed innocent men just for money…” I was crying now, but I knew I still had to finish. So I continued, “At that moment, my conscience overwhelmed me for the first time ever, and I started weeping, just as I am now, and started screaming about how I had burned a group of officers in the Salvadori Diamond Atelier to death. The officer was confused, but I led him there, and showed him- the burning building, the people screaming, the firemen bringing out the bodies of dead officers. And then he arrested me right then and there.”

I fell silent. I have nothing left to say.

The man looked at me. “Do you have anything else you want to tell me?”

Through my tears, I choked out, “No, the rest of the story, you already know it…the trial, my sentencing to death…I just want it all to end. I never wanted any of this, and now I just want it to end, to spare the world any more horror I could cause…You see, the world is right- I am a monster…” Again, I fell silent.

“It is a strange thing, life,” he observed. “So many times, good people are driven to do unspeakable things which they never would have dreamed of doing except in the moment they did them. And for that, they are unjustly called monsters, for that one black blemish in an otherwise good life, and they are condemned to eternal damnation in the minds of the world, to be forever called a monster. Most of the time, the condemned do not speak.”

The cell door opened.

“Dawn breaks,” the jailer said. “And with it, your monstrous life ends.”

“-But you have broken the silence. You are very brave and strong to do that. That man will soon realize, like the rest of the world will, like I already know, that you are not a monster.”

“Now I must leave, for the hour of your death has come. Remember, you might die to expiate what the world has labeled you a monster for, but soon, your legacy will be realized for what it actually is. Go. Hold your head high. You have suffered much, but you do not deserve to suffer forever, and you will not suffer forever. Goodbye, mia piccina.”

And with that, he left. I rose, and surrendered to the jailer.

That black blemish he spoke of, I thought to myself as I walked with the jailer, will never be excusable. But it is not everything I am. And the world will know it is not everything I am.

Suddenly emboldened by this thought, I raised my head and held it high.

I know that I will find redemption somehow, for the world cannot truthfully say now that this is all I am. For I have said otherwise.

Now I am ready to die.

#opera #opera tag #stories #notyouraveragejulie writes

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lixie-lovie · 3 years

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{ Mysterious Stranger | skz }

h.hyunjin x reader

Chapter 5: De la lumière des ténèbres naît

Genre: Dark!au, Thriller-ish, Fantasy!au

Warnings: Some cursing, mention of weapons/blood/demons, fighting occurs, mentions of kidnapping, nightmares

((if anything else needs to be tagged/warned about please send me a message..i’ll fix it asap))

Word Count: 3k (ish)

Note: I AM ONCE AGAIN SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. Life made my brain shut down for a while, but this chapter is here! finally!! This chapter is a littleee short, but more will come soon and its ab to get s p i c y. Hope y’all enjoy!

Chapter Song: You Can Run - Adam Jones

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“It’s time”

I woke with a start in an unfamiliar bed. My hands grasped at the scratchy covers feeling as though I was suffocating. I took note of how cold it must have been by the mist of my breath blurring my vision as I struggled to crawl out of the bed. My body ached and my lungs burned with each heavy, rasping breath that rattled my chest.

My eyes searched the room frantically even through my brain’s panicked haze. I found myself crawling on my hands and knees, dragging my body towards a window at the corner of the small, door-less barren room. As my numb, shaking hands grasped the edge of the windowsill I gasped, looking out into swirling inky blackness. I staggered back as quickly as possible, fearing that the longer I would look, the more I would see, and the less I would want to.

I took deep breaths, steadying my aching palms on my knees before shutting my heavy eyelids for a moment of reprieve. When I finally felt calm I slowly peeled my now sticky with exhaustion eyelids apart and tried to take in my surroundings. As I looked toward the area I knew I had been lying in bed before, I realized I was somewhere completely new to me.

Somehow, this place felt familiar, as if the taste of it’s name had once graced my tongue with its syllables, yet I got a sense that it was different. As I stood straight I compared these feelings of a wistful familiarity to leaving home for college and coming back home to a city overrun with distasteful gentrification. A childhood stolen and sold while one was away.

I could almost hear symphonies and see golden halls filled with people I did not know and music I had never heard, but now as I breathed in air permeated thickly with tar-like smoke, it felt as though those scenes of paradise were in the past or possibly had yet to come at all.

My brow furrowed as my fingers, still tingling with numbness, curled inwards into fists at the discomfort settling in my gut. I sighed, taking in the asphalt covering the ground and the barren trees sparsely creaking in the seemingly unending wasteland before me. Though normally I would question this strange situation I felt as though I knew all of the answers.

Perhaps in this strange land I may have not even been myself, but I found no time to inquire about this revelation as I looked forward, determined and began to run. My feet pounded against the ground beneath my feet as I ran towards the abyss staring back at me as if maybe, if I could find it in myself to run fast enough, I would be able to reach those symphonic halls and find the everlasting peace I longed for so much. Maybe I would find my mother.

I woke up gasping, cold and alone in a dark and damp room. The room itself smelt of smoke and wax, as if only ever lit by candles. Taking into consideration how little I could see at the moment, I presumed it must have been a while ago those candles had held flame. My eyes tried to scan my surrounding area, but through the thick veil of inky blackness, I could see nothing but the colored spots that often danced behind my eyelids.

I took a deep breath, sitting up from my uncomfortable position on the floor and soon, as I became more alert and aware of my situation, I realized that both of my hands had been bound tightly by thick coils of rope. I wasn’t sure how long I had been here, but judging by the warm, slick feeling of blood beginning to slip down my wrists from the compressed tension of the rope, I assumed it had been a while.

My head was pounding with a dull, throbbing headache and my stomach rolled as I made a move to get on my feet. I tried to determine what way to walk, eventually finding my way to one of the walls, but by the time I felt as though I had walked around the same cold and hard concrete four walls one to many times to count, my legs gave out. I wasn’t any more sure of my surroundings and with my knees now surely bruising and bleeding I sighed heavily, trying to recall what had occurred to land me in this situation.

I racked my brain but the ache in my head was making my thoughts hazy. Just as I began to come to a clearer conclusion of what had occurred there was a sudden clang reverberating from somewhere nearby on the other side of one of these four walls. My head whipped around swiftly to try and stare into the direction the sound had come from. My lips moved to form words of inquiry, but the tone died at my strained vocal chords as I thought of what could possibly be the source of such a strange and ominous noise.

I stood again, slower this time, making sure not to make too much of a sound and my eyes darted to a small crack emitting a flickering orange light. My steps were loud in the silence, my eyes adjusting too slow to the dim lighting. Soon, as I approached the source, a loud creaking sound could be heard from the wall adjacent to me. I flinched, spots dancing in front of my eyes at the sudden light coming from in front of me, and I began backing up at the back-lit figure now moving in my direction.

As my eyes began to adjust, my brow furrowed deeply at the hooded figure staying by the only exit to the strange room I had found myself in. My feet shuffled backwards, the noise of the scraping alerted the shape in front of me as they began their slow creep towards my now cowering figure. I readied myself, squaring my shoulders and holding my breath as they approached, prepared to run or comply, whatever would allow me to make some kind of an escape. I knew, however, that I knew nothing here. I was in their domain now, like some kind of caged animal, and I was antsy to learn all that I could about this strange situation.

A feeling akin to panic rose in my chest and it became hard to quell the sounds of my harshly beating heart as the figure let out a low hum, looking over me and slowly rounding my silhouette, seemingly assessing my state of being. I let out a breath as they took a small number of steps away from my shivering form and dug my nails into my palms, so tightly I was sure they’d bleed, to compose myself as they began to turn back towards the still open doorway to this strange room. I watched their figure, taking small quiet steps behind them to question what I could see beyond this enclosure.

“Follow me.” A deep, gravely voice uttered, not turning back to face me. I nearly gasped, but bit my tongue as I was still in shock behind them. Their footsteps stilled suddenly, as they turned their head in my direction, humming out a noise I was sure meant I had no room to not comply with their wishes. I silently scanned their profile for a glimpse at their features.

However, even with the light protruding from the outside of this room The hood over their head blocked any recognizable feature from view. Their robes that hid their build were eerily familiar and I noticed my thoughts drifting to the interaction between myself and the robed figures before. The royal purple shone with the man’s movement like swirling liquid of entrancement, the gold thread lining the outsides of the glistened threateningly even in the low light surrounding us.

I noticed my brow furrowing as I took place behind the man, nodding my head softly in confirmation that I was willing to listen. Every idea of escape began to swirl in the background of my mind as the forefront was overruled with thoughts of finding the truth. Finding my mother.

As my feet shuffled tiredly, slowly copying the movements of the man guiding me and my eyes adjusted painfully to the brighter lights I found myself faintly wondering where I was located and how far I was from the men who had only recently taken me in. My thoughts came to a stop soon however as I took in the corridor now in front of me.

My feet stumbled, my once tightly set jaw going limp as I looked around these ornate concrete catacombs surrounding me. It felt surreal as I stared up, the high ceilings lined with carved statues of heroes and monsters catching my eyes.

There were sections cut out of the smooth, grey stone that held flames of a more red color than I had ever seen before. The man continued forwards, his footsteps echoing loudly in the silent hall, but my feet were still as I tried to snap out of my shock, hearing the shuffling sound of others nearby. I assumed at first they must be the other robed figures I presumed he was taking me to, but as my eyes scanned the walls inquisitively I noticed other cell like rooms containing more people bound and miserable.

My brow furrowed in thought as I rushed to catch up with the figure now leaving me behind and I vowed under my breath to figure out what was happening around me currently.

The walk down the corridor felt as though it had taken years, but I blamed that on the tight feeling of anxiety rising in my chest and the dry desert that was my throat due to seemingly hours of dehydration. The turns made my stomach churn as I tried counting the amount of times we were turning and in what direction, memorizing the patterns. The man suddenly stopped as my thoughts were far from what was occurring and his hand shot out to clasp my shoulder, the feeling shaking me out of the swirling thoughts in my mind and forcing my head to snap upwards to notice the large, dark wooden doors now residing in front of me.

“The elders will meet with you soon. Don’t stray too far and don’t go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. I’ll be back to bring you back to your quarters.” The deep voice said to me. The tone made me eye him suspiciously, the anxiety rising through my chest and claiming my throat now at the implications behind his words. I sighed softly and nodded my head as confirmation as he turned and began walking back the way we had come moments before. As his footsteps receded I replayed his words in my head while turning my hands in their ropes trying to test how hard it would be to get out of my restraints.

His words felt oddly familiar and I tried racking my brain for any means I would have to help me out of this uncomfortable situation, but just as I began muttering the words spoken to me out loud the doors in front of me slowly began creaking and shuttering as they were pushed open, revealing their contents to my eyes. The room itself was large, much larger than I expected, and I was almost unable to make out the shape or size in its entirety due to the darkness shrouding every inch currently. I tried whipping my head around, searching for who had opened the door or any other sign of an “elder” around me, but I was left longing, confusing, and panicked as I was left in eerie silence and solitude. I inhaled sharply, the air burning my lungs in a refreshing manner, squaring my shoulders once again and determinedly taking a few steps inside.

I held my breath as I used all the senses I could still rely on to assess my situation. My footsteps resonated loudly throughout the echoing room. I jumped as a voice suddenly boomed from in front of me, stating my name loudly. Stumbling backwards slightly my eyes darted back and forth, searching for some kind of figure to settle upon. My eyes could faintly make out the shape of large figures towering above me.

Candles were settled at the edge of the platform in front of them, allowing me to see that there were six of them, all of which were wearing matching robes to the other’s I had seen before.

I muttered a prayer to any god I could think of before taking a deep breath in and trying to pay as much attention to the minute details as my foggy, dehydrated brain would allow. I noticed each of them had a glowing pendant that looked well crafted and eerily similar to the ornate designs of the dagger I had been given before.

I gasped as they spoke to each other quietly in a language I was sure I had never heard before. I listened intently, searching for some kind of meaning in the way their tongues were curling around the foreign words. Finally, the large one stood towards the middle of the group spoke up, in a language I could understand this time.

I couldn’t catch every word, my consciousness feeling as though it was sand slipping through an hourglass, but there were a few words that stuck out to me. My senses perked up at the implications each had and I racked my brain for what they could have been connected to, coming up with nothing but questions and dizzy confusion.

“the one blinded”

“vengeance”

“the full moon”

“duty”

“sacrifice”

Their words were making less and less sense as my face contorted at the last word and sweat began to bead at my brow. I blinked harshly, feeling my face become wet with tears that I couldn’t remember crying. I could hear voices, footsteps, but my legs felt like lead and my head felt heavy.

There were gaps of time that felt impossibly thick and suddenly I was alert, staring at the large man’s face that was now riddled with unbridled shock. A rough, calloused gasp left his lips and suddenly he took a step forward, his hood shifting with the sudden stumble. My eyes went wide as the other hooded figures’ voices went silent.

I couldn’t tear my eyes from his pale, wrinkled face as I watched his eyes gather wet, thick tears and suddenly he coughed, once and then twice, before slick red blood began gathering at his pink, chapped lips. It formed a trail down his chin before a hooded figure, now visible to me as the man slumped to the ground with a dull and heavy thud, stood tall with a blade now visible in their hand. The blade itself I recognized instantly, but I was startled by the blood now coating its blade.

The murderous hooded figure made a turn so impossibly graceful it seemed as though it was practiced and almost playful before the other figures, the elders, made a panicked dash, blades in hand to exit and scatter. The treacherous man made daring moves after them, but only for a moment before he looked my way, his hood falling slightly allowing me a subtle glimpse at his impossibly golden eyes, before they darkened and darted towards something behind me.

I yelped loudly, thrashing around as someone grasped my sore, scabbed wrists until I heard a voice that filled me with relief. I nearly smiled or laughed at the impossible situation I was in when I heard him speak into my ear, his breath making me shiver.

“You need to run.” Hyunjin said, his hands gentle as he tore through the ropes binding my wrists. He made a quick motion with his hands and spoke words I feared I would never know the meaning of to the other traitor before making a move to run in the direction opposite to where I was being pointed to run. Just as I took a shaky breath in, rubbing the sorest part of my wrists softly and wincing at the pain it caused, he turned back, his hood now down and his golden hair sweaty and stuck to his face in patterns that made my head spin.

His eyes twinkled even in the dim light of the candles and a mischievous smirk played at the corners of his lips as he stared back at me. He took two steps back in my direction, something I never expected, and reached his hand out towards me slowly, as not to startle me.

“You know, I said I really don’t like babysitting.” He said, speaking softly, as if almost hoping I wouldn’t hear him as he pushed a strand of my hair back so that it wouldn’t fall out of its original resting place. His hand drifted down, barely touching my arm as it ran its course causing my skin to break out in goosebumps. “And I am real sick of having to keep giving this back to you.” He laughed out, placing my blade back into my open palms gently.

I looked at it shocked, feeling its weight sink into my palm as if it belonged there, like an extension of myself. Then, my eyes darted back up to his face, softer than I had ever seen it before if only for a brief moment before his features hardened again.

“Now. Get out of here and don’t look back. Someone’s waiting on you.” He whispered to me, his voice gruff with an emotion I couldn’t quite place and wouldn’t dare question. He then turned on his heel, decidedly making his way towards a future I wasn’t sure of and I found myself wishing I would have found the strength to say something as I listened to his advice and began to run.

I recalled my dream, my feet pounding against the ground, my hands numb, and a scene unfolding before my eyes, all around me. It was encompassing and terrifying, but full of promise from the past and for the future if only I could run fast enough through the suffocating darkness of the present.

#and it begins #mysterious stranger #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #straykids #straykids x reader #skz #skz x reader #reader insert #series #demon hunter #thriller #drama #getting somewhere #05

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calypsoff · 3 years

Text

Ninety. Part 2

I mean Robyn isn’t wrong, she is right that this room is a mess, but she will be sleeping in bed with me, on god she will be. I dislike when she is moody with me, but I need to get some pussy before I explode, I need her really bad. I huffed out making my way out of the bedroom, there is one thing about Robyn she’s going to search the home to see if it’s to her standard. Slowly dragging my feet and into Rylee’ room, Robyn is looking all around this room “so you think the buyer would like it? Me and my ex-wife had a good time here” Robyn turned her head glaring at me with a smirk “mhmm?” I grinned “ex-wife you say?” Stepping into the room “yeah, her name was Rihanna. She left me because I was just too beautiful for her, and she couldn’t handle it” Robyn sniggered making my way over to her ‘ah right! I’m sure she found a more handsome man, I heard he was a prince” Robyn gripped my tee “and they lived happily ever after in a beautiful place, Barbados I hear” I smirked “Barbados? Never heard of the place, I’ve found a new girl now though. She’s called Robyn, and she has the prettiest smile, prettiest eyes, and beautiful feet. She has a good personality too, she loving and open but Rihanna my ex, she was nasty, always being judgmental. Hurt me, you know” Robyn raised an eyebrow “it did? I heard about Rihanna too, she’s a savage. Heard she wrote lovely songs about him too” I snorted laughing “you’re annoying” staring down at Robyn “you can talk” I want to kiss her; I am going to kiss her. I am doing it, leaning down to her. Robyn turned her face, and I kissed her cheek, I groaned out mushing the side of her face “you are so annoying” pressing a kiss to her cheek every time “nobody told you to kiss, you don’t deserve my kisses, not after that nasty ass room” Robyn wrapped her arms around my neck giggling, she still as her face turned away from me. I really missed Robyn so much “you’re beautiful” sniffing her hair “get your nose out of my hair, I can tell my mother has been cleaning Rylee’ room” I am busy trying to not want to hump her, staring at the side of her face silently just waiting to pounce “wait, you can touch me, but I can’t you?” Robyn looked at me smiling, she is playful as fuck “I am the boss and what I say goes and once you can accept that then you can!” I ended up kissing her hand “then you can kiss my lips!” She eyeballed me, I groaned out again this is annoying.

I don’t see what we need to fix when we are doing ok now, we can start to have things back to how it was, I miss that so much “so inspector Rihanna, are you happy with the home? Are you going to come back now? Where Rylee should be” she has really just toured the house “the pool is a mess too, why hasn’t the pool guy come?” I shrugged leaning against the counter top “just a shrug, alright. I am coming back home yes. You’re dealing with the bedroom; I will sleep elsewhere. But this house is not up to the standard on how I have it by the way, you been really busy haven’t you?” She crossed her arms across her chest “in what way?” I questioned “how much did you go out when you were alone? Being all single, the truth will be nice” I swallowed hard “just here and there, I haven’t really been home so like I get why the pool guy hasn’t been around and stuff” Robyn rolled her eyes “I can tell, Chris this isn’t a joke. I’m not going to fall into your arms just like that, it’s gradual but I’m gonna need you to appreciate me more than ever. The thing is Chris I fucking love you so much, I want you, I want the attention, I want all of this but when I think back, you have been a real ass to me. I have my faults too, but you need to know that I’m not playing, for Rylee I am coming back home, for Rylee yeah. I said we will work on it but in your mind you need to realise that I am not playing. I am watching you and your persona, don’t sit pretty. I mean it” I sighed out putting my head down, I am trying my best here and it’s like one knock after another with Robyn, hard work.

Making my way out of the house to get into the car “I am so sorry to hear about your daughter” Justin came out of nowhere, reaching my hand out and falling him “thank you brother, just going to see her now. Appreciate it” hugging him “I sent flowers to your house, but I don’t think they got there” I chuckled “the hell you sent them too?” I questioned “god knows, I will again. Rihanna, I haven’t seen you here in a while. Sorry to hear about your daughter” watching Justing walk over to my wife “aww it’s ok; thank you for coming over” Robyn hugged him, I really want to fuck Robyn so bad. Just over the car fuck her, just make her scream bad. I miss that ass so much “Chris, hey!” Robyn spat “catch you soon” dapping Justin as he walked off “yeah let’s go” I dragged out, that really went down to my dick “I uhm, got a cleaner to come” opening the car door, climbing into the car “ok, good” she is so moody, I hate that. Banging the door closed “why are you moody with me? Please tell me this, give me a damn chance” I am sick of this shit “you expect me to be happy after coming home and seeing the state it is in? My mother here with a nasty ass pool and bedroom, I am glad she didn’t look in that room, which woman would be happy with that Chris? And it just shows to me you were busy doing other things and those things didn’t include me you right, I am annoyed. I didn’t ever say this was going to be easy because I am back in the house, you could have said it to me Chris, tell me that it wasn’t done but is head crawling up my ass saying you want to eat my fucking ass!? In that nasty bedroom, boy!” She kissed her teeth “stop pulling me down Chris, act right!” She spat, putting my car engine one in silence. What can I say, she is right “I just think there has to be a moment where you aren’t annoyed by me” sighing out shaking my head “then act right, know your shit and own it. You knew I woulnd’t approve of that, but you could have said it, I would have been less annoyed. You just know this but don’t say, you just been having real fun without me, and I can see it but please let’s go back to Rylee” I could have told her actually, she is right. I don’t know why I didn’t, maybe because of this.

Flicking through my music while sat in the beautiful LA traffic, shit is so crazy here with the traffic, but we are so quiet, I have stopped talking because I get myself in some shit, that is just me. That always happens to me because I can’t keep quiet at all. I found the perfect song for this, pressing play on Boyz II Men – End of the Road. Placing my phone in the compartment, Robyn looked over at me “really? You could select any song; you know that right?” nodding my head “We belong together, and you know that I am right, why do you play with my heart, why do you play with my mind. Said we'd be forever; said it'd never die. How could you love me and leave me and never. Say goodbye” I sang to her “I did say goodbye” Robyn retorted “you didn’t the first time around, did you?” she rolled her eyes “don’t do this, you’re being dramatic” maybe I am but it’s fitting “sing it with me, although we've come to the end of the road still I can't let go, it's unnatural. You belong to me, I belong to you” Robyn wants to laugh but she won’t, she is being hard-faced “you have windows down and doing this, look at what you’re doing” looking out of the window and this group of guys is just staring “we are getting a divorce!” I shouted; Robyn placed her hand over my mouth “stop it! You idiot” she put the window up “the best bit is coming on” I cleared my throat “Girl, I'm here for you, all those times at night when you just hurt me. And just ran out with Mel, baby I knew about it. I just didn't care” Robyn snorted laughing “you’re so dumb, I can’t take this serious, drive” she waved at the window.

Locking my car door laughing to myself “you are a really something else, that song was on loud too. If there are videos of it I won’t be shocked either” watching Robyn walk around the car, locking it again because she was just closing the door “don’t hold my hand if you love me, ah see. You’re not holding my hand, so you do love me, I get it. You’re shy” i cheesed so hard “you wish I held your hand, maybe if I come home to a nice clean bedroom” she said, “you will sleep in bed with me?” she sniggered “I will reconsider that you can touch me” holding the door open for Robyn “men first” Robyn abruptly stopped “nigga” I chuckled “I am playing, sir. I am sorry she is holding up the flow of people, this man has people to save Robyn and this wonderful young lady. You’re here blocking the way” Robyn playfully hit my chest walking inside “you can both go” I gestured, Robyn is walking to the elevator and she looked over her shoulder, oh she is being playfully hard on me “you can close the elevator doors, he is not coming on here” Robyn is a trip, jogging towards it “I would have laughed if you twisted your ankle, stop doing the most” she says that but is the one asking for the doors to be closed on me.

Robyn and her bright ideas, this elevator is going down so now we are stuck going down and then up one and down again “anymore bright ideas, you would have thought with the size of your head you would have better ideas” Robyn shuffled away from when the doors opened and I was going to move to her but the influx of people coming on, I sighed out and side eyed her. She just laughed, she is playing too much, staring at her in the crowded elevator. Watching every little curve of her lips, every breath she is taking, the shaky breath she just let in. She looked over at me, she knew I was staring. Licking my lips and then bit my bottom lip, she poked her lips out at me “your floor” the guy said at the side of me, snapped me out of it “oh yeah, it is” I didn’t think we would have ended up on our floor actually, I thought it was going down. Stepping off the elevator, Robyn laughed out “I didn’t know you like men” that guy did give me a weird look “whatever, but on a real are you coming back to bed with me? If I tidy it up of course. Serious question” I am being deadass, I miss her “yes I would, it’s my bed and we are married. I also enjoy seeing you squirm when we aren’t having sex and you have to lay there like a plank of wood” I scoffed, she has a point “wood gets dry, I need to be watered, a little squirt juice” Robyn opened the door to the room “you are nasty” going inside the room “what?” Robyn said, looking in the room “the doctor wasn’t happy, Robbie come in” Monica said, looking at Rylee and my joy just left me.

Things are just up and down but pretty much has been down for us, one minute laughing but then not “sorry, I have been ever so busy” Myriam came into the room “you weren’t here so we just informed the grandparents” maybe we took too long “why is my daughter back in the same position? I left her free from this and you put it back in her, why?” Robyn’ voice broke “when we removed the tubes, especially the oxygen I said it’s not permanent, we would monitor her and when I came back Rylee wasn’t doing well and I wasn’t confident to let her come home, we will do the oxygen again, then try again. She is not as bad, but I want her to be ok to know she is ok to be at home, we try again and move forward. I am sorry, I can only say sorry, but I want to make sure she is ok to be at home, it’s her breathing so it’s important but we can move her. Into the suites, have you all comfy and more private. Give you a bed to stay with her” I frowned “how long are you planning to keep her here?” that is crazy “as long as I am confident to know Rylee won’t be struggling at home, this is what we all want. But we will move her, the porter will be here soon” placing my hand on Robyn’ shoulder “oh my god” Robyn breathed out “she is in the best place Robyn” my mom said “I just went to make sure her room was ready, she was ready to go home. I just want her home” Robyn’ voice broke “I am ok, I will be ok. You’re right” this is a big blow for us.

They have moved us to the suite, it’s really nice actually. Couch and bed, bathroom. Like an apartment, much more privacy, my daughter deserves it “I am confused, Rylee is always asleep. Like why? She doesn’t be awake like she does?” the nurse finished off changing the IV line “we put her in a natural sleep” looking over at Robyn “you knew that? They put Rylee to sleep” Robyn nodded her head “they told me, it’s because Rylee gets fussy, when she gets that way to stop her from wanting to move things or pull things, it’s best” letting out an oh “I am going to say bye to my mom and the family” nodding my head turning to Rylee, I don’t like to see this shit at all, how can anyone enjoy seeing their child in this state, she doesn’t look pale but if the doctor doesn’t feel it’s right yet, we have to do it. I do not want Rylee home when she is not right, I couldn’t lose her like that “nice room, we will leave you both son” getting up from the chair “thanks dad” hugging him “it’s ok, keep in touch. I am praying for my grandchild so much; she was really upset earlier. Pained me” Robyn and I must have missed that part.

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